GIFT  OF 

OHD  BACON 

I  J'ARY 


c«v^ 


HONESTY'S  GARDEN 


BY 

PAUL  CRESWICK 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Cbe    "Knickerbocker   press 
1910 


Ube  fmfcfterbocfeer  press,  "Hew  »orb 


Dearest — this  book  I  gave  you  years  ago 


269558 


Honesty's  Garden 


CHAPTER  I 

A  speckled  thrush,  puffing  his  plum  chest, 
called  once — twice — from  the  highest  twig  on 
the  highest  branch  of  the  pear-tree  near  my 
window.  I  heard  presently  answering  notes, 
slightly  petulant,  perhaps.  The  rain  had  fallen 
sweetly  during  the  night,  turning  all  the  lumpy, 
hard  ground  soft  and  fragrant,  and  cleansing 
the  rose  trees  of  blight.  The  close  lawn  was 
sparkling  under  the  early  sun,  as  though 
sprinkled  by  some  lavish  magic  hand  with  mil- 
lions of  diamonds. 

Already  the  sun  was  well  above  the  hills  across 
the  valley,  flinging  slant  rays  reproachfully  to- 
wards us.  The  cuckoo's  sly  notes  sounded  from 
the  deep  woods  beyond  the  village;  he  invited 
folk  to  awake — to  leave  their  warm  nests.  The 
thrush    whistled    again    from    his    perch    per- 


2  Honesty's  Garden 

emptorily,  then  dropped  swiftly  to  the  grass. 
There  was  something  amid  the  diamonds  of  dew 
really  remarkable! 

After  a  fitting  interval  came  the  good  lady. 
She  had  finished  preening  her  feathers,  and  now 
deigned  to  flutter  her  sleek  round  self  nearer 
her  fussy  lord  and  master.  She  eyed  the  wrig- 
gling morsel  which  he  had  captured  with  a  fine 
air  of  disdain.  "  Whatever 's  that?  "  she  asked 
plainly,  her  head  on  one  side.  Then,  before  he 
could  attempt  an  explanation,  "  Pray  don't 
speak  with  your  beak  full,  dear — it 's  such  a 
bad  example  for  the  chicks.  Besides,  it  does  n't 
suit  you ! " 

She  condescended  to  accept  the  tit-bit,  how- 
ever, and  at  once  flew  off  to  the  nest.  Such  a 
twittering  now!  I  could  imagine  the  scene: 
three  or  four  hungry,  tremendous  mouths  all 
clamouring  together  to  be  served  first!  Typical 
little  birds  obeying  prime  instincts. 

Honesty  awoke — who  could  sleep  through  such 
a  din?  I  heard  her  casement  opening  wide, 
and  drew  back  into  the  dimity  shadows  of  my 
own  curtained  window.  A  gentle  puff  of  fresh 
pure  wind,  pungent  with  aromatic  savours, 
greeted  her.  "  Bless  the  birds !  "  I  expect  she 
said,  smiling  to  hear  the  uproar  in  the  thrush's 
nest ;  "  how  very  early  they  do  wake  up ! " 
Then  crossing  to  her  glass,  and  smothering  a 


Honesty's  Garden  3 

tiny  yawn,  she  concluded  (no  doubt),  "What  a 
fright  I  look!" 

I  can  only  guess  at  Honesty's  words;  but  I 
expect  she  either  said  or  thought  just  what  I 
have  written.  I  am  always  careful  to  open  and 
close  my  window  very  gently ;  a  summer's  morn- 
ing is  a  wonderful  business,  not  to  be  disturbed 
by  harsh  sounds  or  by  unmannerly  intrusion. 
Much  of  the  garden  can  be  seen  from  my  room 
— all  the  bushes  and  taller  plants,  while  the  long 
sweep  of  close  turf  peeps  between  the  whisper- 
ing trees  very  refreshingly.  Soon  I  see  Honesty 
herself,  pink  in  her  cotton  dress,  bareheaded, 
with  big  gloves  on  her  small  hands,  and  with 
sharp  scissors  snipping  a  bouquet. 

Honesty  is  really  the  spirit  of  the  place.  This 
busy  little  maid,  experienced  of  twenty  whole 
summers,  enters  unassumingly,  and — presto! — 
the  garden  is  worth  a  thousand  thousand  times 
its  value  of  a  moment  before.  What  quick,  deft 
fingers  has  she,  despite  those  clumsy  gloves!  I 
see  a  cloud  of  bright  blossoms  filling  her  gath- 
ered-up  apron,  stains  of  deeper  pink  against  the 
pale  pinkness  of  her  dress,  roses  shy  and  sweet 
crowding  each  other  in  lovely  disorder. 

Is  it  fair  to  watch  Honesty  like  this?  I  think 
yes — for  surely  God  sent  us  pretty  things  that 
we  might  look  upon  them,  and  so  learn  how  to 
be  beautiful. 


4  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Swift." 

"  Oh,"  say  I,  disconcerted  no  little,  "  I  did  n't 
know  you  could  see  me." 

Honesty  laughs,  but  only  briefly  glances  up- 
ward towards  my  window.  "  I  knew  you  were 
there,"  she  answers,  smiling  half  to  me,  half  to 
herself. 

"  Did  you?  "  ask  I,  rather  curious;  "  and  how 
did  you  know?  " 

She  goes  on  filling  her  apron.     Presently 

"  Did  you  enjoy  your  trip  to  the  West?  " 

"  Very  much.     But  please  tell  me  how " 

"  Did  you  buy  any  new  books?  " 

"  Only  one  or  two — not  new  books  though.  I 
had  a  great  find  on  Tuesday.  Please  wait  until 
I  come  down ;  I  must  tell  you  about  the  find." 

A  few  moments  afterwards  I  am  peering  above 
the  hedge  of  sweetbriar  which  divides  our 
gardens.  Honesty  has  pocketed  her  scissors, 
and  is  making  up  the  bouquet.  It  develops 
astonishingly  under  her  clever  little  fingers. 

"  Very  nice,"  I  announce,  approving  every- 
thing.    "  Now,  give  me  my  answer." 

"  What  did  you  ask?     I  don't  remember." 

"  I  want  to  know  how  you  knew  I  was  there." 

"  There? — in  the  West?  Why,  you  yourself 
told  me  you  were  going." 

"  That  won't  do.  I  mean — how  did  you  guess 
I  was  peeping  at  you  just  now?  " 


Honesty's  Garden  5 

"  I  did  n't  guess  it,"  replies  Honesty  provok- 
ingly ;  "  I  knew  it." 

"  Yes;  but  how  did  you  know  it?  " 

"  Because,  because — oh,  any  one  could  have 
known  you  were  about!  You  make  such  a 
noise." 

"  I  opened  my  window  ever  so  quietly.  Even 
the  birds  did  n't  notice  me." 

"  They  were  too  busy  with  breakfast,"  she  in- 
terrupts. "  Here  's  a  button-hole  for  you.  And, 
another  time,  put  on  your  hat ;  the  mornings  are 
often  very  chilly.  You  shall  tell  me  about  your 
new  books  some  other  day;  mother  is  calling 
me  now." 

"  I  made  such  a  find,"  I  begin  to  explain.  But 
Honesty,  with  an  apologetic  laughing  curtsey, 
is  gone  from  view  ere  I  can  reach  my  theme. 

So  there  for  a  few  moments  I  stand,  and  stare 
into  the  cool  gloom  of  the  wide  hall  into  which 
she  has  vanished.  I  can  faintly  distinguish  the 
white  face  of  the  steady  old  clock,  the  rise  of 
the  low  stairs. 

Bless  me,  what  a  delightful  place  is  this  old 
world!  Life  is  a  great  blessing,  a  great  gift. 
Summer,  and  a  garden  as  fair  as  Eden;  a  small 
Eve  withal  very  delightful  to  look  upon,  and 
waiting  demurely  for  the  right  Adam.  A  para- 
dise free  from  serpents,  let  us  hope! 

So  to  a  quiet  breakfast,  and  afterwards  to 


6  Honesty's  Garden 

work.  With  my  pipe  and  my  book,  I  can  dis- 
regard the  newspaper.  What  care  I  for  frets 
and  worries  this  morning? 

I  write  busily,  and  fulfil  most  of  my  morn- 
ing's task  ere  seeking  relaxation.  Then,  at 
eleven  or  thereabout,  I  take  a  book,  and  think 
again  of  the  garden. 

That  way  madness  lies.  Once  in  the  sunlight, 
I  know  I  shall  never  have  strength  of  mind  to 
return  to  duty.  I  elect  to  read  for  ten  minutes 
or  so,  with  my  back  to  the  alluring  open  window. 

Mine  is  a  very  small  library,  gathered  together 
in  many  years  from  many  hands.  I  believe  I 
have  loved  books  since  I  was  able  to  read. 
Books  are  house  and  home  to  me,  my  holidays 
and  workdays;  they  are  my  servants  and  my 
masters,  my  children  and  my  friends.  These 
have  I  acquired  by  toil,  and  by  chastening  self- 
denials  in  other  directions.  Some  are  of  old 
acquaintance;  to  those  on  the  top  shelf  have  I 
only  just  been  introduced.  I  cannot  say  if  any 
of  them  will  travel  downward  to  that  especial 
shelf  whereon  are  the  well-tried  and  always 
faithful — those  which  I  can  reach  from  my  arm- 
chair with  ease. 

Here  a  baker's  dozen  of  a  series,  now  long  ago 
concluded  rather  summarily  by  its  publisher. 
They  are  the  first  ones  of  it — fiction  all  of  them. 
They  seemed  to  be  sincere — to  strike  (how  many 


Honesty's  Garden  7 

years  ago?)  a  new  note.  Anything  out  of  con- 
ventional ruts  attracts  me.  I  have  not  much 
mind  which  way  books  trend  in  thought  or  pur- 
pose, if  their  writer's  purpose  be  honest.  Save 
us — 'tis  only  by  our  mistakes  that  we  learn! 
Some  one  has  said  this  before  me,  but  it  makes 
no  difference  to  the  truth  of  it. 

A  man  shall  be  known  by  the  company  he 
keeps — in  his  books.  Here  on  my  few  shelves 
is  my  record  of  eight-and-thirty  years,  written 
plainly,  page  by  page.  Any  one  of  understand- 
ing may  know  me  at  a  glance. 

It  is  a  dreadful  thought.  I  will  curtain  my 
shelves,  and  sell  some  of  my  books  forthright, 
all  except  the  Shakespeare,  my  pride  and  my 
joy — eight  very  fine  quartos,  originally  bound 
together  in  one  volume.  If  I  might  only  dis- 
cover the  ninth !  But  my  pipe  is  done,  and  upon 
my  desk  lie  sheets  of  clean  paper  ready  for  spoil- 
ing; beside  them  a  stack  of  novels  for  review. 
Unhappy  me,  and  still  more  unhappy  authors  of 
these  gaily  rigged  ventures  on  a  wide  sea.  If 
in  a  passage  in  any  one  of  these  I  discover  an 
idea  in  common  with  my  own  small  philosophy, 
I  shall  straightway  deem  the  writer  a  shrewd 
and  sensible  fellow.  His  tale  shall  be  told  me, 
and  I  will  listen  intelligently  to  the  whole  of  it. 
Then  shall  I,  in  gratitude,  do  my  best  for 
him. 


8  Honesty's  Garden 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  nothing  in  tune  with 
my  selfish,  solitary  notions  appears,  then  shall 
I  dismiss  the  poor  man  speedily,  and  with  cold 
farewells.  His  book  will  go  to  that  worthy  gen- 
tleman in  St.  Martin's  Lane,  who  shall  give  me 
a  sixth  (or  less)  of  the  published  price — pro- 
vided the  work  reaches  him  within  a  month  of 
publication,  and  is  practically  uncut!  What  a 
farce  it  is ;  yet  I  do  suppose  that  critics  all  work 
in  my  way,  so  that  my  reviews  are  as  valuable, 
or  valueless,  as  theirs. 

There  is  consolation  in  the  idea  that  reviews 
do  not  matter  much.  No  review  ever  made  a 
book  yet,  or  ever  will.  It  may  help:  just  as 
Honesty,  by  tending  her  little  garden,  and  by 
bringing  intelligent  love  to  bear  on  her  roses, 
helps  them  to  full  measure  of  success.  But  the 
real  reason  of  her  garden  is  not  altogether 
Honesty.  An  intangible  element  is  in  the  being 
of  some  of  her  bushes.  These  fellows  keep  free 
from  blight,  do  not  get  mildew  even  in  the  driest 
season,  blossom  from  June  to  September  with- 
out apparent  effort  They  are  a  bewildering 
success,  in  spite  of  culture  and  care  and  feeding 
— if  one  might  dare  think  it.  As  like  as  not 
Honesty,  with  that  sharp  little  knife  of  hers, 
cut  them  back  cruelly  in  the  spring,  disregarded 
them,  and  lavished  her  skill  on  other  trees 
struggling  ineptly. 


Honesty's  Garden  9 

It  's  a  gift,  born  with  people — perhaps  cul- 
tivated by  them,  all  unknowingly.  Success  is 
not  luck,  it  does  not  come  as  a  reward;  it  is 
simply  in  some  of  us,  just  as  music  is,  or  art,  or 
business. 

Therefore  reviews  do  not  matter — at  least, 
not  my  reviews. 

An  article  for  the  Daily  Rocket  is  a  more  seri- 
ous task,  and  one  which  I  must  complete  ere 
nightfall.  It  will  take  me  three  hours,  and  then 
I  shall  not  produce  a  paper  which  I  shall  really 
like.  Also,  there  is  a  beastly  book  on  Alfred 
which  I  must  finish  by  the  end  of  July;  this 
should  have  attention  to-day. 

Now  I  don't  much  care  about  Alfred.  When, 
on  reading  him  up,  you  find  he  did  not  recite  the 
Psalms  by  heart  long  before  he  was  able  to 
walk,  that  he  never  was  in  the  cottar's  hut  burn- 
ing cakes,  you  feel  that,  to  a  large  extent,  he  is 
an  impostor.  On  looking  further,  you  discover 
that  positively  he  usurped  the  throne,  the  actual 
next-of-kin  to  poor  unsung  Ethelred  being  Ethel- 
red's  own  child — Alfred's  toddling  nephew.  Of 
course  the  little  chap  could  not  have  been  a  king 
right  away.  But  did  Alfred  make  any  movement 
in  the  right  direction  when  Ethelred  junior  came 
to  years  of  discretion? 

I  pause  for  a  reply. 

However,  when  a  man  has  attained  a  mille- 


io  Honesty's  Garden 

nary,  one  has  to  write  about  him,  whatever  one's 
private  feeling  may  be. 

I  want  one  day  to  write  a  book  which  shall 
really  be  my  own.  It  won't  have  much  story  in 
it,  and  shall  not  be  forced.  I  will  build  it  in 
my  own  way,  just  as  I  feel  inclined. 

It  will  be  a  capital  means  of  ridding  myself 
of  pestilent  ideas  and  enthusiasms.  Evils,  or 
what  I  believe  to  be  evils,  shall  be  denounced  in 
the  grand  style  upon  its  sacred  pages.  Instead 
of  going  about  airing  views,  which,  Heaven 
knows,  may  be  as  ridiculously  wrong  as  most 
views  are  (for  what  mortal  eye  can  see  all  round 
a  thing?),  I  shall  simply  rant  and  rave  my  way 
to  peace  again  within  my  book's  unheeding  cov- 
ers. My  admirations,  my  follies,  my  tolerations, 
my  religions,  my  self,  shall  be  permitted  only  in 
this  garden. 

What  a  collection  of  .  .  .  weeds  it  will  be ! 


CHAPTER  II 

The  first  scene  of  the  first  act  of  a  comedy 
is  performed  before  my  window — or,  rather, 
Honesty's  window — each  day.  The  curtain 
rings  up  at  eight-thirty  a.m.  without  fail;  on 
fine  mornings  it  is  often  earlier. 

From  my  point  of  view  only  half  of  the  per- 
sons of  the  play  may  be  observed.  I  must  ex- 
plain that  Honesty's  garden  and  mine  are  side 
by  side,  each  facing  into  the  highroad  at  their 
eastern  boundaries.  At  breakfast  I  sit  with  my 
back  to  the  window,  as  I  do  not  like  folk  who 
sit  the  other  way,  for  ever  peering  out  at  other 
people's  business. 

But  I  have  a  mirror  above  a  rather  nice  old 
sideboard  (in  the  Adam  style,  and  very  useful), 
and  in  that  magic  circle  I  perceive  this  first 
scene  of  a  comedy  which  never  gets  beyond  the 
first  scene.  It  all  comes  to  one  point  over  and 
over  again — not  by  any  means  to  a  climax,  yet 
it  never  fails  to  be  interesting.  I  can  picture  to 
myself  how  Honesty  smiles  in  response  to  the 
young  fellow's  half-shy  greeting! 

ii 


12  Honesty's  Garden 

What  do  those  two  dear  young  things  imagine, 
I  wonder,  in  June?  Singing  birds,  sunshine, 
perfume  of  roses  and  old-fashioned  flowers — 
health  and  happiness 

Ideals  too.  Near  to  the  eyes  is  the  soul  when 
one  is  young!  To  leave  the  world  a  wee  bit 
better  for  your  having  lived  in  it,  to  be  kind, 
to  help — these  are  the  royal  prerogatives! 
And  these  the  success  I  will  wring  from 
life. 

So  go  the  years,  each  one  showing  our  ideals 
as  increasingly  difficult,  almost  impossible — 
more  and  more  shadowy  and  vague. 

All  we  like  sheep 

But  let  me  credit  Mr.  Baillie  with  conviction 
at  least  in  the  present  stage  of  it.  He  is  twenty- 
three,  well  set  up,  a  good  lad.  Truly  he  wor- 
ships Honesty,  and  passes  her  garden  morning 
by  morning  in  ever-increasing  adoration.  If  she 
should  be  there,  with  that  great  apron  about 
her  and  those  important  gloves  on  her  small 
hands 

"  We  '11  be  having  some  rain,"  he  will  ven- 
ture. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  say  that !  It  rained  all  last 
night,  and  I  want  the  sun  to  shine  every  minute 
of  to-day.     I  have  so  much  to  do." 

"  It >s  always  busy  you  are,  Miss  Honesty." 

"  Indeed,  yes.     I  hardly  know  where  to  begin. 


Honesty's  Garden  13 

The  weeds  grow  so  fast,  and  the  grass  always 
wants  mowing.  I  think  you  might  stay  and  help 
me." 

Poor  Baillie!  Just  then  he  hears  the  faint 
whistle  down  the  valley  which  tells  that  his  train 
is  passing  the  far  signals.  He  '11  have  to  trot 
for  it,  for  this  little  duologue  has  taken  longer  to 
say  than  to  write.  The  lad  's  so  nervous  that 
it 's  a  relief  to  him  to  run  off,  with  some  chok- 
ingly explanatory  "  good-bye."  He  is  never  so 
"  Scotch  "  with  me.  Indeed,  it  is  only  at  a  crisis 
of  this  nature  that  you  might  know  Baillie  for 
a  "  laddie  "  at  all. 

I  wish  I  could  see  Honesty's  face  during  this 
passage-of-arms — nearly  an  entire  scene  in  our 
Comedy  of  Love.  But  the  sweetbriar  hedge  is 
only  partially  reflected  in  my  mirror,  and  I  own 
I  have  guessed  the  dialogue  mainly. 

It  is  interesting  to  hear  the  news  of  Car- 
bridge-on-the-Mole,  the  happenings  whilst  I  have 
been  away.  We  have  really  tremendous  epochs 
down  here  in  this  pretty  Surrey  village — on 
occasion.     You  shall  hear. 

I  summon  Jones — my  housekeeper,  gardener, 
general  servant,  cook,  still-room  and  tweeny 
maid,  butler,  and  (within  limits)  valet-de- 
chambre.  She  instructs  me  as  to  the  more 
recent  history  of  our  times. 

First,  I  tell  her: 


14  Honesty's  Garden 

"  You  can  take  away  breakfast  when  you  like, 
Jones." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  The  boy  did  n't  bring  the 
paper  this  morning." 

"  So  I  see.  You  must  tell  me  the  news — if 
you  have  any."  (Spoken  indifferently  in  tone; 
I  have  to  be  wary  with  Jones.) 

"  Nothing  much,  sir.  Miss  Legard  was  mar- 
ried on  Tuesday." 

"Oh!     Nice  affair?" 

"  Yes,  sir — very  nice.  The  young  lady  wore 
white  satin,  made  princess — with  a  trailing 
skirt :  quite  swept  the  aisle  it  did.  Orange  blos- 
soms in  her  hair,  and  four  bridesmaids.  Such 
a  lot  of  people  in  the  church,  sir — just  like  Sun- 
day evening;  and  they  had  a  full  choir,  and  a 
red  carpet  all  down  the  road." 

"  All  down  the  road,  Jones?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  it  was  nice.  Red  felt  at  ten-three  a 
yard  out  of  Hoy's  shop,  just  like  my  brother's 
wife  has  on  her  stairs.  And  the  organ  was  play- 
ing lovely " 

Jones  pauses,  irresolute.  "  I  thought  you 
would  n't  mind,  sir,  so  I  just  locked  up  the  house 
for  an  hour.  Everything  was  perfectly  safe,  and 
I  came  straight  back.  I  'm  sure  I  hope  you  're 
not " 

"  Well,  Jones,  I  know  you  would  n't  do  any- 
thing risky."     I  don't  half  like  it,  all  the  same, 


Honesty's  Garden  15 

but,  between  ourselves,  I  'm  a  trifle  afraid  of 
Jones,  she 's  an  old  servant.  Suppose  some  one 
bad  broken  in,  though ;  I  'm  positive  they  would 
have  taken  my  Compleat  Angler,  a  fine  copy — 
or  my  Rowlandson  prints.  Or  possibly  the  set 
of  Lowestoft  mugs — frightful  thought.  The 
Shakespeare  would  not  tempt  every  one,  because 
so  few  people  know  of  it. 

I  must  somehow  let  Jones  understand  that 
this  must  n't  be  taken  as  a  precedent.  "  Of 
course,  er — urn."  (Pause.)  "I  don't  much 
care  for  the  house  to  be  left,  in  the  ordinary 
run  of  things." 

"  Quite  so,  sir.  But  we  don't  have  many  wed- 
dings down  here,  sir,  more 's  the  pity." 

(Why  does  Jones  eye  me  so  severely?  It 's  no 
fault  of  mine.) 

"  Well,  did  the  bride  cry,  or  do  anything  else 
usual  and  exciting?  " 

"  No,  sir,  Miss  Legard  did  n't  cry — not  as  I 
saw.  She  seemed  rather  glad  and  '  smiley/  sir. 
They  been  engaged  ten  years,  sir." 

The  tone  in  which  Jones  used  the  word  is  a 
revelation,  and  stamps  her  at  once  above  her 
kind.  Walking-out  is  the  expression  any 
other  Jones  would  have  used,  but  not  my 
Jones. 

"  Smiley,  was  she?  Let  us  hope  she  will  be  as 
happy    as    she    hopes."     (Jones    is   eyeing    me 


16  Honesty's  Garden 

again.  I  hasten  to  change  my  note.)  "The 
church  was  crowded,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  never  see  so  many  new  dresses, 
and  there  were  twenty  Maid  Marians  throwing 
roses  all  under  their  feet  as  they  walked " 

"  Hold  hard,  Jones.     Twenty  Maid  Marians?  " 

Jones  is  firm.  "And  twenty  little  Robin 
Hoods.  They  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  car- 
pet, throwing  more  roses.  The  Sunday-school 
children,  sir — Miss  Legard's  own  class.  There 
was  breakfast  afterwards  in  Mr.  Legard's 
meadow.  You  could  see  it  all  from  my  win- 
dow." 

"You  had  come  back  by  then?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir.  I  was  n't  gone  more  than  an 
hour.  I  did  n't  mean  to  leave  your  books  and 
things  so  long,  only  the  time  did  slip  by.  I  took 
the  liberty  of  dusting  the  shelves,  sir." 

"  So  I  noticed — very  carefully  done,  too.  I  'm 
obliged  to  you."  Clever  girl,  Jones,  can  dust  a 
bookshelf  without  thoroughly  disarranging  it; 
does  n't  tidily  put  back  volumes  I  have  specially 
taken  out  for  easy  reference.  "  Any  other 
news?  " 

"  The  young  lady  next  door  went  in  pink — 
very  pretty  summer  sort  of  dress,  sir,  but  hardly 
right  for  a  wedding,  was  it?  Such  a  short  skirt 
too,  quite  clear  of  the  ground  all  round.  And 
a  great  straw  hat  with  roses  in  it — and  no  bou- 


Honesty's  Garden  17 

quet;  only  just  flowers  cut  from  her  own 
garding,  sir." 

A  vision  of  Honesty  rises  before  me.  I  '11 
readily  wager  she  looked  the  best  there. 

"  Rather  odd  for  a  wedding,  sir? "  Jones 
persists. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Simplicity  is  Miss  Dene's 
note.  Have  n't  you  noticed  the  sweetbriar  hedge 
round  her  garden  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  of  course,  sir."     Jones  is  puzzled. 

"  Sweetbriar  stands  for  simplicity,  as  you 
should  know — being  a  country  girl.  Just  see  if 
my  paper  has  come,  will  you?  I  fancy  I  heard 
the  boy  just  now." 

So  Jones  departs,  evidently  unconvinced. 
She,  despite  her  years,  would  have  gone  to  the 
wedding,  had  she  been  a  guest,  in  a  dress  of  all 
colours  of  the  rainbow,  be-frilled  and  be-flounced, 
yards  long,  and  brand  new  from  Hoy  himself. 
(Hoy  is  the  local  universal  provider.)  Special 
appearances  and  manners  for  special  occasions 
— how  artificial  and  wicked! 

But  that 's  precisely  how  the  world  wags. 

I  am  so  tired  of  the  modern  newspaper;  I 
want  something  much  more  human — something 
where  common-sense  and  sympathy  find  places. 
Our  present-day  newspaper  occupies  its  assertive 
self  so  much  with  the  worse  side  of  our  coats 


18  Honesty's  Garden 

— the  rents  and  rags :  so  little  is  said  of  the  stuff 
itself — of  the  fine-drawn  repairs. 

If  our  clothes  fit  ill  or  wear  badly — there 's 
the  newspaper  man,  with  a  loud  voice,  more  than 
ready  to  draw  every  one's  attention  to  the  fact. 
I  don't  want  to  read  of  miserable  things — really 
miserable,  I  mean;  of  the  quarrels  of  my  neigh- 
bours, and  the  worse  quarrels  of  nations.  The 
newspaper  too  often  makes  the  quarrel — helps  it 
to  develop.  Besides,  why  give  evil  such  adver- 
tisement? Alas,  for  the  deep-rooted  depravity 
of  us  all.  The  newspaper  man  answers  by  slap- 
ping his  pocket.  Cut  all  the  evil  out  of  a  news- 
paper, and  where  would  be  the  profits  of  a 
"  daily  "  anything? 

But  I  preach,  which  is  a  bad  symptom;  more- 
over, there  are  excellent  good  points  in  a  news- 
paper. It  advertises  all  the  new  books; 
tells  me  (in  its  own  fashion — I  read  between 
the  lines)  all  about  them.  It  also  runs  a 
library. 

I  hear  further  as  to  the  wedding — from 
Honesty  herself.  She  tells  me  it  was  beautiful, 
and  that  the  weather  was  perfect.  That  the 
bride  was  sweet,  and  said  her  responses  so  that 
all  could  hear.  That  the  groom  was  radiantly 
nervous,  and  nearly  tripped  over  the  edge  of  the 
red  felt  at  ten-three  a  yard. 

"  I  trust  you  did  n't  laugh." 


Honesty's  Garden  19 

"I?"  Honesty  is  surprised  at  the  question. 
"  No,  I  did  n't  laugh.     I— I  cried." 

"Cried?" 

"  Not  then,  of  course.  It  was  before — in  the 
church.  It  all  seemed  so  solemn,  so  dreadful — 
in  a  way.     But  you  will  think  that  silly." 

I  shake  my  head ;  I  imagine  that  I  understand. 
We  are  holding  this  conversation  through  my 
open  parlour  window.  She  has  brought  me  some 
rose-leaves  showing  signs  of  mildew.  I  am  to 
pronounce  a  cure  for  the  trouble.  "  Powdered 
sulphur,"  I  am  beginning;  "but  you  must  be 
very " 

"  It  means  so  much  to  a  girl,"  she  says, 
inconsequently. 

"  And  to  the  man,"  I  declare,  cleverly  seeing 
that  her  thoughts  are  still  with  the  wedding. 
"  It  's  a  fearful  lottery  for  a  man." 

"  Oh,  well — I  don't  know."  She  hesitates. 
"  Don't  you  see,"  she  goes  on — stumblingly  for 
Honesty,  "  a  woman  is  just  what  a  man  makes 
her,  is  n't  she?  I  mean  if  he 's  good,  and  kind, 
and " 

She  stops  short ;  she  cannot  travel  openly  with 
her  argument — she  is  doubtful. 

"  It  cuts  both  ways — like  your  pruning-knife," 
I  state  judicially.  I  can  look  down  upon  her 
from  our  window,  and  this  gives  me  an  air. 
"  A  good  wife  makes  a  good  husband,  and  vice 


20  Honesty's  Garden 

versa.  The  true  basis  on  which  to  build  up  a 
happy  married  life  is  Give-and-take — and  Don't- 
expect-too-much." 

"  Give-and-take?  "  questions  Honesty,  blankly. 

"  That,  and  patience.  There  ?s  foundation  and 
superstructure  for  you." 

"  Nothing  else?  " 

"  Let  me  think.  Of  course  there 's  Unselfish- 
ness, and  Ability  to  Manage.  There 's  Proper 
Pride ;  and  Don't- try-to-commence-where-your- 
parents-left-off.     That 's  very  important." 

"  There 's — there  ?s  Love,"  she  interrupts,  sud- 
denly and  boldly;  then  turns  as  red  as  the  red 
roses  in  her  garden. 

Dear  me,  Mr.  Baillie!  You  have  made  my 
Honesty  dream  all  that  stuff  and  nonsense, 
eh? 

Her  blue  eyes  meet  mine  valiantly.  She  lifts 
her  small,  determined  round  chin,  confirming  the 
challenge. 

"  Not  that  it  matters  to  me,  you  know." 
Honesty  is  smiling,  having  entirely  routed  the 
enemy.  Komance  holds  the  field.  "  I  'm  going 
to  be  an  old  maid." 

"  That 's  awfully  unoriginal  of  you,  then,"  I 
interpose,  displeased.  "  So  many  girls  have  be- 
come old  maids  since  the  world  began." 

"  Poor  things !  " 

"  Not   at    all.     Their   own    fault,    no    doubt. 


Honesty's  Garden  21 

Either  too  much  modesty,  or  too  open  with 
their — love,  or  whatever  you  call  the  com- 
plaint." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  're  going  to  be  horrid,"  re- 
marks Honesty,  peeping  up  at  me.  "  Was  n't 
the  last  book  a  first  edition,  after  all!  Not  in 
the  original  boards;  and  was  it  ten  years  too 
late?" 

"  It  was  a  bargain  at  any  rate,"  I  retort ; 
"  even  if  I  did  make  a  mistake !  And — observe 
— see  how  it  bears  on  the  question.  If  I — ex- 
perienced bibliophile  as  I  am — can  make  a  mis- 
take about  a  book  after  all  these  years,  how 
much  more  easily  could  I  make  a  mistake  about 
a  woman,  a  book  no  one  ever  properly  under- 
stood, so  far." 

"  But  we  were  talking  about  Marie,  I  thought. 
It  was  her  wedding,  you  know.  Why  bring 
yourself  into  it?     Are  you  contemplating " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  I  cry,  vigorously.  "  But 
you — that 's  a  different  matter.  If  you  really 
wish  to  become  an  old  maid,  you  shall  have 
Keedels.     There  's  a  cat,  if  you  like !  " 

"  Oh,  and  she  belongs  to  Jones !  "  Honesty  is 
profoundly  shocked  at  my  suggested  violation  of 
the  sacred  laws  of  property.  She  adds,  with 
truth,  "  Jones  wTould  leave  you  at  once  if  you 
were  to  lose  Keedels." 

"  I   should  simply  get  a   new  housekeeper," 


22  Honesty's  Garden 

I  announce,  calmly.  I  add,  stupidly,  "  Perhaps 
you  would  come?  " 

She  starts,  flushes— lifts  a  quick,  troubled 
glance  to  mine.  I  see  that  I  have  offended  her. 
Idiotic  of  me,  trying  to  be  funny.  I  'm  not 
funny;  and  I  ought  to  be  aware  of  the  fact. 
It 's  a  relief  to  hear  Jones  behind  me  murmuring 
something  about  the  butcher.  I  don't  catch  what 
she  says,  but  I  welcome  the  butcher  passionately. 
"  I  '11  bring  some  sulphur,"  I  call  to  Honesty, 
"  during  the  day.  It  's  gardener's  work ;  you 
must  let  me  show  you." 

She  has  already  gone;  and  with  inward  mis- 
givings I  turn  to  hear  Jones.  Her  theme  is 
butchers;  their  impudence  and  unreliability. 


CHAPTER  III 

I  have  been  flustered  with  visitors.  The 
Aunt  Sophie  squadron  has  successfully  stormed 
the  fastnesses  of  the  Haven  at  Carbridge-on-the- 
Mole.  Behold  my  home  invaded  by  an  exceed- 
ingly capable  aunt  and  two  rather  nice  motoring 
girls. 

Not  a  large  contingent,  but  deadly,  never- 
theless. Aunt  Sophie  brings  Eva — her  eldest 
daughter,  and  Eva  brings  Kitty — her  sworn  com- 
panion in  crime.  They  have  brought  their  new 
motor — or,  rather,  it  has  (indifferently  well) 
brought  them!  A  weedy-looking  youth  (the 
gardener's  son,  I  imagine),  who  has  driven  them 
here,  has  already  been  flat  on  the  road  under- 
neath the  motor,  on  top  of  my  only  macintosh. 
The  attitude  is,  I  am  instructed,  usual  and 
necessary. 

The  village  gathered  to  witness  the  entertain- 
ment, but  a  series  of  loud  and  totally  unexpected 
"  pops  "  from  the  front  part  of  the  infernal  ma-, 
chine  caused  the  juvenile  portion  of  our  inhabi- 
tants to  withdraw  hastily.  The  gardener's  son 
alone  was  calm ;  he  said  one  word. 

23 


24  Honesty's  Garden 

I  hastily  called  my  guests  indoors,  offering  to 
regale  them  with  such  refreshment  as  Jones  and 
I  could  find  at  short  notice. 

It  appeared  that  Eva,  who  looked  the  picture 
of  health,  was  positively  dying  to  see  me.  Thus 
Aunt  Sophie,  who  was  quite  in  form :  "  It 's 
ages  since  we  have  seen  you,  that 's  the  truth, 
Mortimer.  What  have  you  been  doing  all  this 
time?  " 

"  Existing,  dear  aunt,  simply  existing." 

"  What  else  can  one  do  in  the  country?  You 
are  quite  a  savage,  Mortimer;  but  I  like  you  still. 
So  Jones  has  n't  left?  I  suppose  you  have  to 
humour  her  a  great  deal?  " 

Fatal  topic!  I  steer  carefully.  "We  hu- 
mour each  other,  dear  aunt.  Do  you  think  that 
lad  is  quite  safe?  What  extraordinary  sounds 
the  car  is  making.  Your  boy  seems  to  be  wind- 
ing it  up  now." 

"  Starting  the  engines,"  remarks  Eva  inform- 
ingly,  just  glancing  towards  the  window.  "  It 's 
such  a  dear  thing,  Cousin  Mortimer.  Fancy! — 
we  came  through  from  Knightsbridge  in  forty 
minutes ! " 

"  Thirty-nine,"  corrects  Kitty,  whose  other 
name  I  find  presently  to  be  Harrison. 

Aunt  Sophie  has  taken  in  the  details  of  my 
parlour.  "  What  charming  old-fashioned  fur- 
niture.    How  nice  and  beeswaxy  it  smells.     And 


Honesty's  Garden  25 

that  funny  little  mirror,  too — so  artistic.  I  sup- 
pose those  tea-cups  there  are  something  very 
precious?  " 

"  You  would  like  tea,  aunt?  I  ought  to  have 
thought  of  it  long  ago." 

"  I  believe  your  Jones  is  bringing  it,  Cousin 
Mortimer,"  announces  Eva,  hopefully.  "  May 
we,  in  the  meantime,  have  a  peep  at  the  Haven? 
We  won't  disturb  anything,  and  Kitty  and  I  do 
so  long  to  see  a  real  bachelor  house.     May  we?  " 

"  Of  course,"  I  say ;  "  make  yourselves  at 
home,  please." 

"  You  will  excuse  us,  Mortimer?  "  My  aunt 
rises  to  play  chaperone,  I  suppose. 

"  Willingly." 

"  Oh,  is  n't  he  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  us !  " 
cries  Eva,  taking  me  up.  "  Do  come  along  Kit, 
or  the  monster  will  say  something  worse.  Look ! 
he  's  opening  his  mouth  already !  " 

"  Not  to  eat  you,  my  dear,  but  merely  to  re- 
mark that,  if  I  seem  a  very  grizzly  bear,  it 's  all 
your  fault.  You  should  give  bears  sugar  when 
you  want  them  to  appear  at  their  best." 

I  put  my  hands  behind  my  back,  and  bend  my 
head  a  little  forward,  expectantly.  Eva  hesi- 
tates— permits  the  others  to  go  out  before  her; 
her  small  mouth  half  puckers  itself,  very  tanta- 
lisingly ;  then  she  alters  her  mind,  "  Shall  I, 
Kit?" 


26  Honesty's  Garden 

Miss  Harrison  calls  from  the  stairs,  "  I  think 
we  had  better  have  sugar,  Eva — just  to  sweeten 
our  tea." 

Eva  tip-toes  up  to  me,  and  I  catch  her  in  my 
arms.  Really,  it  's  an  experience.  I  have  n't 
enjoyed  anything  so  much  for  years.  My  cousin 
expostulates,  squeaks — and  escapes. 

"  You  're  a  naughty,  naughty  bear !  I  'm  as- 
tonished— pained — utterly  and  for  ever  shocked 
— I  '11  tell  Kit  the  minute  I  get  upstairs."  She 
pauses  at  a  sudden  inspiration.  "  No,  I  won't ; 
I  '11 — tell  the  girl  next  door — you  see  if  I  don't." 

She  flies  for  her  life,  while  I  remain  properly 
confounded.  Eva  tell  Honesty  that  I  kissed  her ! 
Whatever  for?  Tell  Honesty!  She  would 
simply  say,  "  Why  not,  pray?  Isn't  he  your 
cousin?  " 

I  chuckle  over  this  ridiculous  incident,  and 
wonder  why  Eva  should  have  said  such  a  thing. 
What  does  she — little  gad-about  on  motor-cars 
— know  of  "girls  next  door"?  Who  told  her 
there  was  &  girl  next  door?  Honesty  would  be 
amused.  I,  old  enough  to  be  her  father — 
absurd. 

Later,  the  girls  are  allowed  to  turn  over  my 
books  and  generally  rummage  round.  Aunt 
Sophie  takes  me  for  a  walk  in  the  garden,  whilst 
the  weedy-looking  youth,  having  wound  and  un- 
wound the  engines  to  his  heart's  content  and  the 


Honesty's  Garden  27 

perplexity  of  the  machine,  takes  tea  with  Jones. 
The  motor-car  remains  sulkily  silent,  but  every 
instant  I  expect  to  hear  it  go  off.  It  has  a  for- 
bidding appearance;  its  lightless  lamps  are  two 
eyes  fixing  me  with  cold  glances  of  disapproval. 

Aunt  Sophie  makes  known  the  main  object  of 
this  visit.  (I  knew  Eva  wasn't  dying!)  I  am 
warned  and  advised.  Warned  first — that  being 
the  most  important — to  draw  out  my  small  hold- 
ing in  Gatherway's  publishing  business.  Gather- 
way  is  alleged  to  be  embarrassed.  "  He  '11  go, 
Mortimer,  you  mark  my  words.  Your  uncle 
Duveen  told  me  on  the  quiet,  '  Pop  down  to 
Carbridge  and  warn  the  boy.'  That 's  what  your 
uncle  said  this  very  morning.  So  down  we 
came." 

I  thank  Aunt  Sophie,  without  having  the 
smallest  intention  of  hurting  Gatherway's  feel- 
ings in  any  way.  Bless  me,  we  went  up  to 
Oxford  together — in  the  same  college!  He  took 
his  degree  first,  then,  after  a  little  preliminary 
dabbling  in  literature,  applied  himself  to  busi- 
ness. He  has  a  name  in  the  publishing  world 
of  Edinburgh — a  good  name — and  he  pays  five 
per  cent.  I  shouldn't  dream  of  disturbing  his 
faith  in  me — or  of  losing  five  per  cent. 

Secondly,  advice  gratis.  I  am  nearing  forty, 
it  appears,  and  it  is  high  time  I  settled  down. 
One    way    and    another — according    to    Aunt 


28  Honesty's  Garden 

Sophie — I  have  an  income  of  eight  hundred  a 
year. 

"  May  I  beg  of  you  not  to  breathe  it  to  the 
income-tax  assessors?"  I  plead;  "they  only  put 
it  down  at " 

"  Don't  be  nonsensical,  Mortimer.  A  nice 
girl,  properly  trained,  might  contrive " 

"  They  do  contrive,  aunt,  without  any  train- 
ing.    We  had  a  wedding  here  only  last  week." 

"  Be  quiet,  and  attend.  This  is  for  your  own 
good,  Mortimer.  Now  you  know  what  sort  of 
creature  will  best  suit  you.  Personally,  I  de- 
clare diamonds  trumps." 

"  Content,  dear  aunt." 

"  Diamonds,  then ;  and  mind  you  play  your 
hand  properly.  It  will  be  your  turn  to  declare 
later  on,  and  I  should  strongly  advise  you  to  call 
hearts.  How  would  you  like  Kitty  Harrison  for 
a  partner?" 

"  Oh,  aunt — this  is  so  sudden !  " 

"  She 's  a  pretty  girl,  a  healthy  girl,  and  a 
lady.  Twenty-six,  no  affectation,  a  fine  consti- 
tution, and  comfortable."  Aunt  Sophie's  tone 
gave  it  the  correct  manner.  I  found  myself  ex- 
pecting a  conclusion  on  these  lines :  "  Now  gen- 
tlemen, what  do  you  say?  Here's  a  bargain 
— a  chance  in  a  thousand.  A  young  woman 
absolutely  unspoiled  by  the  world;  twenty- 
six,  healthy,  nice-looking.     A  fine  constitution — 


Honesty's  Garden  29 

twenty-six!  thank  you,  sir! — twenty-six;  going 
at  twenty-six ! " 

"  It 's  not  dear,"  I  admit. 

"  She  is  a  dear,"  emphasises  Aunt  Sophie, 
mistaking  my  long  pause  for  acquiescence  in 
her  schemes.  "  The  more  you  see  of  her,  Mor- 
timer, the  more  you  '11  like  her.  Besides,  time 
doesn't  stand  still  for  us,  even  if  we  do  collect 
china  and  old  books.  What 's  the  use  of  your 
gathering  together  this  pretty  little  houseful  of 
treasures,  if  there  's  no  one  to  leave  it  to?  Think 
of  your  books  being  sold  to  rascally  dealers — 
or,  worse  still — to  other  collectors !  "  (Aunt  has 
me  here.  I  wince  palpably,  and  she  follows  up 
her  advantage. )  "  Think  of  your  china — the 
Lowestoft,  the  square-mark  Worcester,  the  Nant- 
garw  tea  service — broken  up  amongst  your  dis- 
tant relatives.  Get  a  wife,  Mortimer;  some  one 
to  share  your  joys,  and  halve " 

"  My  income,"  I  wail,  feebly.  "  Perhaps  she 
won't  like  china ;  perhaps  she  '11  have  idols  of 
her  own." 

"  They  '11  belong  to  both  of  you,"  declares  my 
aunt;  and  for  a  moment  I  don't  follow  the  bear- 
ing  of  this  remark.  "  It  will  be  the  making  of 
you,  Mortimer.  I  shall  come  and  see  you  again 
soon,  and  if  I  can  bring  Kitty " 

Fortunately,  Miss  Harrison  and  Eva  just  then 
came  out  of  the  house.     Eva  is  breathless  with 


30  Honesty's  Garden 

admiration.  "  Oh,  cousin,  we  do  think  your 
books  wonderful.  We  have  only  turned  out  a 
dozen  shelves "  ( Heavens ! )  "  and  there  are 
heaps  more.  Poetry,  too,  and  Kit  does  so  love 
poetry." 

"  Come  as  often  as — your  motor-car  will  let 
you,"  say  I,  recovering  slowly  from  the  fright 
into  which  Aunt  Sophie  had  put  me.  "  I  '11 
show  you  the  lions  of  Carbridge — our  greatest 
attractions." 

"  That  will  be  only  going  so  far  as  the  next 
garden,  cousin,  won't  it? "  asked  Eva,  slily. 
What  a  little  wretch ! 

When  saying  good-bye,  Miss  Harrison  gives 
me,  briefly,  a  small,  cool,  soft  hand,  a  gracious 
smile,  and  charming  thanks  for  my  poor  enter- 
tainment of  her.  Really,  quite  an  amiable  girl 
this,  with  good  teeth  and  pleasant  eyes;  walks 
rather  well,  too,  and  does  n't  talk  too  much. 

It 's  hardly  likely  such  a  paragon  would  fall 
in  love  with  a  round-shouldered  old  biblio- 
maniac. I  have  heard  though,  even  at  Car- 
bridge,  that  prices  just  now  are  ruling  high 
— for  bachelors.  Too  many  spinsters  (so  they 
say)  spoil  the  market.  But  I  only  hanker  after 
bargains — in  books! 

It  would  be  mean  to  take  advantage  of  the 
other  poor  things;  and,  by  the  law  of  averages, 
I  am  inwardly  convinced  that  they  make  up  for 


Honesty's  Garden  31 

all  previous  humiliations — once  they  secure  a 
man.  "  Pleased  to  see  the  world  go  by  in  all 
its  changing  imagery."  That 's  the  motto  let- 
tered laboriously  by  me  above  the  lintel  of  my 
den.     She  (any  she)  would  soon  paint  it  out! 

Just  as  the  motor-car  is  panting  forward, 
Aunt  Sophie  remarks :  "  I  hear  you  have  been 
West  again.  Did  you  call  at  Harry's  place,  as 
I  told  you?"  (Harry  is  Eva's  brother,  who  is 
prospering  exceedingly  at  some  weird  occupa- 
tion connected  with  shoes  in  a  village  near 
Bath.)  I  shout,  "Yes!"  and  Aunt  Sophie  Du- 
veen  smiles  approvingly  as,  with  a  jerk,  the 
weedy-looking  youth  suddenly  causes  the  in- 
fernal machine  to  bound  onward  and  away. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  have  sustained  a  fall  in  pride:  Gatherway 
has  returned  my  Alfred  typescript,  with  a 
note  that  it  won't  do  at  all.  It  's  too  informing, 
he  states,  and  boys  will  not  be  preached  at.  The 
youthful  mind  likes  it  all  story;  keep  the  his- 
tory "  underneath  the  jam,"  writes  Gatherway. 

Thus  I  have  to  resume  a  task  which  I  had 
deemed  complete — in  July,  too!  when  the  gar- 
den is  calling  me  every  minute.  The  weeds  are 
growing  faster  than  the  flowers — bother  them ! — 
and  the  grass  seems  to  need  mowing  as  often  as 
I  need  shaving.  The  carnations  are  all  crying 
to  be  tied  up ;  the  sweet-peas  are  blooming  them- 
selves to  an  early  death;  and  the  ground  should 
be  continually  stirred  to  keep  it  sweet.  (I'm 
not  a  believer  in  watering.  Stir  and  stir — 
that 's  the  secret ;  don't  let  the  earth  get  crusty 
— like  any  old  bachelor!) 

As  for  the  roses — well,  I  give  it  up.  Honesty 
is  the  only  one  who  can  grow  roses  to  any  sort 
of  perfection.  I  can't  imagine  how  she  does  it. 
Her  garden  is  next  to  mine,  as  you  know ;  it 's 

32 


Honesty's  Garden  33 

the  same  identical  soil,  the  same  aspect.  I  work 
much  harder  than  she  does,  too.  I  coax  them, 
and  syringe  them,  and  disbud  freely 

But  I  can't  grow  roses  to  nearly  equal 
Honesty's.  The  impudence  of  her  roses,  the  arro- 
gance of  them.  Great  flowers  erect  on  thick 
stalks;  foliage  growth  that  is  positively  tropical. 
Her  roses — whether  standards,  half-standards,  or 
bushes — are  all  healthily  alike;  teas,  noisettes, 
hybrid-perpetuals — they  all  flourish. 

"  It 's  continual  attention,"  says  Honesty, 
whenever  I  request  her  to  confess  the  secret  of 
this  natural  magic.  "  It 's  always  watching  over 
them  and  loving  them." 

"  And  understanding  the  rascals,"  I  cry, 
"  which  is  more  than  I  do." 

"  If  you  love  anything,  you  soon  begin  to 
understand  it,"  she  tells  me.  "  Don't  you  un- 
derstand books?  " 

Of  course,  there  's  something  in  that.  ...  I 
have  very  few  books  to  review,  it  being  the  be- 
twixt-and-between  season.  In  October  I  shall 
groan  under  stacks  of  novels,  and  have  to  cut 
them  furiously  to  get  through  in  time  for  press. 
Why  are  we  such  creatures  of  superstition? 
Who  told  the  first  publisher  that  books  have  no 
summer  nor  any  winter? 

No  true  author  could  have  given  the  hint, 
I'm  sure;  nor  reader  (at  a  guinea  per  MS.); 


34  Honesty's  Garden 

nor  printer;  nor  compositor;  nor  purveyor  of 
hand-made  antique  paper,  "  deckle-edged  and 
bulking  grandly." 

Have  the  holidays  anything  to  do  with  it;  the 
fish  under  the  white  weirs,  the  grouse  on  the 
moors,  the  roast  turkeys,  Christmas  puddings, 
and  old  port  of  winter? 

It  comes  to  me  as  a  revelation.  It  is  these 
things  which  combine  to  make  publishers  work 
for  two  seasons  only  in  a  year.  Publishers,  like 
all  other  people  (except  authors)  are  becoming 
too  prosperous.  They  are  being  found  out — 
my  newspaper  says  so!  They  ride  in  carriages, 
and  they  consort  with  lawyers,  brewers,  and 
American  millionaires. 

Sublime  altitude!  Shall  I  ever  soar  to  it?  I 
fear  yes — in  a  degree.  Aunt  Sophie  seems  to 
have  been  in  the  know,  after  all,  for  I  cannot 
get  any  dividend  out  of  Gatherway  this  half- 
year.  I  gently  reminded  him,  and  then  back 
came  my  Alfred  book.  I  politely  requested  a 
better  answer,  with  no  success;  and  now,  in  my 
dreams,  county  courts  with  all  their  attendant 
horrors  seem  to  be  beckoning. 

Whether  Gatherway  will  permit  himself  also 
to  be  beckoned  remains  to  be  seen.  My  only 
consolation  is  that  I  did  n't  marry  him  to  Miss 
Harrison.  That  might  have  happened;  for  I 
did  ask  him  to  dinner,  when,  according  to  threat, 


Honesty's  Garden  35 

Aunt  Sophie  brought  her  charge  to  bear  upon 
me.  But  Gatherway  would  not  come  out  of 
Scotland — not  even  for  a  dinner! 

My  outer  fortifications  were  gone  as  soon  as 
Kitty  Harrison,  this  "  comfortable "  young 
woman,  entered  my  house  with  Aunt  Sophie 
and  Eva.  I  liked  the  little  tricks  of  her:  her 
intense  self-possession ;  the  fact  that  she  did  n't 
glance  sideways  into  looking-glasses  as  she 
passed  them.  I  had  pleasure  in  noting  the  fact 
that  she  had  good  shoulders,  and  held  them 
squarely.  She  also  was  kind  enough  to  appear 
interested  in  my  books.  She  has  read  well  and 
intelligently;  moreover,  she  shares  my  an- 
tipathies.    She  does  not  like  .  .  .  nor ,  nor 

any  others  of  the  "  Get  Fame  Cheap  "  school. 

But  somehow  I  had  memory  of  Honesty  in 
me,  and  so  was  serious,  and  ashamed  in  a  man- 
ner. I  do  not  believe  for  an  instant  that  Miss 
Harrison  has  any  suspicion  of  my  aunt's  out- 
rageous "  intentions."  I  did  not  attempt  to  be 
other  than  a  reasonable  creature,  and  so  played 
host  to  my  dangerous  guests  happily  and  enjoy- 
ingly,  without  being  so  entirely  concerned  with 
me,  as  you  might  have  expected. 

I  am  not  able  to  guess  how  the  Comedy  of 
Love  progresses.  We  may  be  still  in  the  first 
act,  or  at  the  beginning  of  the  second.  Baillie 
is  prudent  beyond  belief,  or  else  is  n't  in  love 


36  Honesty's  Garden 

at  all.  These  young  men  are  very  variable. 
Honesty,  being  a  woman,  holds  her  cards  so  that 
she  only  shall  read  her  hand.  Strange  how  an 
intense  passion  for  mystery  and  intrigue  appears 
in  all  women.  It  is  as  deep-planted,  as  ineradi- 
cable, as  horse-radish  in  its  own  particular  field 
— or  as  egotism  in  the  male. 

I  detest  your  grumbler,  but  really  I  have  felt 
queerish  of  late.  Whether  it  be  through  gen- 
eral run-downness,  or  because  of  Gatherway's 
affair,  I  cannot  say.  If  he  were  to  fail — well,  it 
would  mean  Retrenchment  and  Reform  with 
capitals !  I  have  only  the  little  I  earn  as  "  litera- 
ry "  man  (one  had  better  by  far  be  a  crossing- 
sweeper)  and  a  small  income  arising  from  my 
investments.  Most  of  these  remain  still  to  the 
credit  of  the  Colosseum — that  ancient,  virtuous, 
and  Spartan  review  of  which  England  is  so 
justly  proud. 

My  father  was  one  of  the  promoters  of  the 
Colosseum  in  the  early  forties.  He  was  a  good 
friend  to  it,  and,  in  its  way,  the  thing  has  been 
grateful.  Safe  as  the  bank  and  as  severely  im- 
posing, is  the  Colosseum!  It  has  slated  Dickens 
in  its  time;  has  ragged  Shakespeare,  and  it  en- 
joys the  distinction  of  having  never  "discov- 
ered "  any  author  or  artist,  nor  encouraged  any- 
body. When  one  has  written  twelve  books  (it 
may  now  be  fifteen),  or  has  exhibited  twenty 


Honesty's  Garden  37 

pictures,  the  Colosseum  condescends  to  "  hear  " 
of  one.  The  blushing  author  or  artist  is  at 
length  noticed  by  the  Colosseum  prudently  and 
briefly.  Then  his  fortune  either  is  made — or  it 
isn't! 

The  greatest  of  all  the  great  Conservative  re- 
views has,  however,  chronicled  his  name  and  his 
work  for  all  time. 

I  should  not  rail  at  the  Colosseum,  seeing  that 
it  virtually  keeps  me.  But  this  waywardness 
shows  that  I  am  not  well.  I  will  go  to  North 
Devon  forthright — to  Lynmouth — where  one 
finds  health  and  happiness  at  all  seasons,  more 
especially,  perhaps,  in  July.  Devon  in  the  "  full 
o'  summer,"  when  trees  are  in  their  sweetest 
foliage,  and  the  trout  are  jumping  greedily  to  be 
caught.  The  long  warm  days,  and  the  cool  quiet 
nights;  the  birds  singing  for  lovers'  hearing  their 
love-songs  yet;  the  ferns  all  unrolled j  the  rho- 
dodendrons blazing  to  the  last  under  the  sighing 
woods — these  are  the  essentials  in  that  Elixir  of 
Life  which  gives  me  youth  and  faith  once  again. 

The  rush  of  that  little  tempestuous  river,  so 
downright,  so  determined,  so  heedless  of  ob- 
stacles !  Nine  miles  fighting  past  great  boulders, 
leaping  them  here  and  there;  nine  miles  deep 
down  betwixt  frowning  hills,  whirling  over 
broad  shallows — a  silver  thread  in  the  ravine, 
but  bound  to  spin  its  length  to  the  sea !     Here  's 


38  Honesty's  Garden 

a  lesson  for  me — but  I  am  too  tired  to  profit  by 
it.     Hope  deferred 

Baillie  lias  spent  evenings  with  me,  ostensibly 
to  talk  about  fishing.  He  is  an  enthusiast,  but 
has  much  to  learn.  Coarse  fishing  he  can,  with 
indifferent  success,  contrive,  but  when  it  comes 
to  the  literature  of  fishing  I  find  him  sadly 
needing  assistance. 

So  he  comes  to  me  to  imbibe  the  ethics  of 
pisciculture,  with  a  little — "  up  to  the  pretty, 
please."  A  fine  mature  blend,  I  must  tell  you, 
which  after  years  of  patient  search  I  have 
discovered. 

It  is  brought  me  in  a  gallon  jar,  which  in  its 
turn  is  poured  gently  into  a  slightly  larger  little 
cask — that  has  a  tap  not  too  far  down.  The 
cask  is  never  to  be  tilted  so  that  it  shall  be  posi- 
tively emptied;  but  one  must  be  adding  (on 
occasion  )4  to  keep  the  tide  flowing. 

Writing  of  "  Pretty  "  reminds  me  of  Honesty, 
of  whom  I  really  intended  to  speak  when  the 
whiskey  and  Baillie  interposed.  It  is  even  as  I 
thought;  he  loves  the  maidie  ...  it  is  not  my 
brilliant  lecturing  that  he  comes  to  hear,  nor  is 
it  my  whiskey  which  tempts  him ;  although  I  do 
assure  you  it  is  full  fifteen  years  of  age  and 
wondrous  mellow.  John  Baillie  permits  himself 
to  be  bored  in  order  that  he  may  talk  with  me 
about  Honesty.     He  has  recognised  (lover's  in- 


Honesty's  Garden  39 

stinct!)  that  I  am  one  to  whom  the  subject  is 
not  totally  without  interest. 

I  have  extracted  facts  which  lead  me  to  sus- 
pect that  we  are  in  the  thick  of  the  second  act 
of  our  comedy.  He  has,  by  some  means,  made 
known  his  adoration ;  and  has  been 

Rebuked  is  the  word  I  want :  but  Baillie  shakes 
his  head.  Mistress  Honesty  did  not  rebuke ;  she 
just  said  nothing  at  all.  At  least,  only  that  she 
was  too  old  for  such  nonsense;  and  that  he  was 
too  young  for  it.  So  he  brings  it  to  me,  and  we 
talk  in  this  wise : 

Venator:  Trust  me,  Master,  I  see  now  it  is 
a  harder  matter  to  catch  a  trout  than  a  chub; 
for  I  have  put  on  the  garb  of  patience  and  have 
followed  you  these  two  hours. 

Piscator:  Well,  Scholar  John,  you  must  en- 
dure worse  things  at  the  hand  of  a  woman — or 
you  will  never  make  a  good  lover.  What,  does 
she  flout  you?  Then  affect  to  disregard  her; 
let  her  not  see  your  affection,  but  make  it  seem 
so  that  it  shows  like  indifference. 

Venator:  That  were  a  task,  Master  Swift: 
for  truly  I  do  very  passionately  worship  this 
maid.  She  hath  eyes  of  forget-me-not ;  hair  that 
is  bound  about  my  heart. 

Piscator:  Sir,  I  will  tell  you  that  fires  which 
blaze  so  fiercely  soon  burn  down.  Put  restraint 
upon  your  actions;  and  upon  your  tongue  above 


40  Honesty's  Garden 

all.  Come  Scholar,  leave  Honesty  alone ;  do  not 
offer  to  spoil  your  chance  with  her. 

Venator:  Well  now,  Master,  will  you  not 
give  me  better  direction,  as  a  friend,  how  I  may 
fish  for  this  trout? 

Piscator:  I  can  give  no  better  advice;  let  her 
be,  and  she  will  run  after  you  in  turn.  Maids 
that  are  wilful  are  usually  caught  in  this  fash- 
ion— and  it  is  told  that  they  do  like  and  expect 
to  be  caught — in  the  end  of  it.  Look  you,  there 
are  many  sorts  of  maids,  and  you  must  play 
them  carefully.  A  minnow  will  not  tempt 
all  of  them,  as  true  anglers  know  right  well ;  nor 
are  minnows  always  to  be  got.  But  if  you  be  a 
true  lover,  it  is  sure  that  you  shall  find  a  way 
to  win  for  yourself,  and  no  other  shall  teach 
you. 

Venator:  Master,  I  fear  I  have  not  the 
courage  to  do  that  which  you  say.  Moreover, 
it  is  certain  that  I  must  pass  by  her  garden 
every  day  when  she  is  in  it. 

I  find,  for  some  obscure  reason — because  I  am 
not  well,  I  expect — a  mean  satisfaction  in  the 
knowledge  that  Honesty  has  discouraged  Master 
John.  She  is  too  good  for  him.  Not  but  what 
he  is  a  decent  lad  for  some  other  Jill.  Honesty 
belongs  to  her  garden;  and  both,  in  a  sense,  be- 
long to  me.  It  is  right  that  I  should  be  con- 
sulted; I  loom  paternally  above  the  sweetbriar 


Honesty's  Garden  41 

horizon  for  Honesty,  no  doubt.  Does  she  not 
insist  upon  my  wearing  a  hat  on  chilly  morn- 
ings? Baillie  may  follow  my  excellent  counsel, 
after  all.  And  then — Honesty's  garden  without 
Honesty.  Which,  as  you  already  have  perceived, 
is  not  at  all  the  same  thing ! 


CHAPTER  V 

Baillie  recounts  how  he  has  come  to  love 
Honesty  and  spares  me  no  detail.  He  produces 
evidence  against  the  defendant  in  the  course  of 
his  confidences;  for  he  is  attempting  to  carry 
out  the  plan  of  campaign  which  I  have  indicated. 

Honesty  is  aware  of  his  perturbed  condition; 
has  been  aware  of  it  from  the  outset.  In  that 
she  did  not  at  once  nip  him  in  the  bud  (as  she 
would  have  nipped  any  too  presuming  plant  in 
her  garden),  it  must  be  conceded  that  she  has 
deliberately  "  led  him  on." 

This  is  a  delightful  mode  of  argument,  which 
I  recommend  to  all  folk  afflicted  like  poor  John. 
You  can,  in  this  manner,  always  make  good 
your  case.  Baillie,  finding  me  so  intelligent,  is 
prompted  to  continue: 

"  Item :  Honesty  has  asked  him  to  post  let- 
ters for  her  on  his  way  to  town,  and  once 
accepted  a  stamp. 

"  Item :  She  has  given  him  flowers  from  her 
garden ;  not  many,  but  still 

"  Item :  She  inveigled  him,  at  the  last  charity 
42 


Honesty's  Garden  43 

bazaar,  into  purchasing  an  entirely  unnecessary 
and  hideous  '  table  centre/  and  a  volume  of 
poetry. 

"  Item :  One  of  the  flowers  once  given  to  him 
was  a  red  rose,  which  of  course  meant " 

But  the  instances  could  be  multiplied  ad 
nauseam.  The  most  flagrant  is  that  one  of  the 
bazaar.  Why  a  table  centre  and  poetry,  if  she 
intended  nothing? 

We  both  pause  for  a  reply — while  Jones  comes 
into  my  den  with  a  fresh  siphon.  "  There  ain't 
any  more  in  the  house,"  she  remarks,  with  a 
peculiarly  Jonesian  glance  towards  my  discon- 
solate hero.  "  I  never  known  you  drink  a  dozen 
a  week  before,  sir,"  she  adds. 

Before  we  can  either  of  us  frame  a  fitting  re- 
partee, Jones  continues  firmly,  "  Shall  I  lock  up, 
sir?  " 

I  '11  do  it  myself,  I  tell  her,  apologetically ;  and 
she  is  not  to  sit  up.  "  I  put  your  letters  on  your 
desk,  sir,"  she  reminds  me,  as  Baillie  drops  back 
into  his  armchair.  I  push  the  tobacco  towards 
him.  He  fills  his  pipe,  and  as  I  nod  hospitably 
at  the  decanter,  he  takes  the  hint — with  a  pro- 
digious sigh. 

Silence  falls,  until  presently  two  great  illu- 
minating truths  break  from  my  companion.  He 
has  been  regarding  me  steadfastly,  and  says,  with 
deliberate  emphasis,  "  I  'm  thinking,  Swift — I  'm 


44  Honesty's  Garden 

thinking  ye  're  no  a  Scotsman."  He  watches 
unblinkingly  the  effect  of  his  thunderbolt, 
"  There 's  too  much  o'  comfort  in  the  ways  of 
you,  too  much  seempathy."  He  puffs  a  blue 
cloud  of  smoke ;  then  concludes,  "  and  the  lassie, 
she  's  no  a  Scotsman." 

"  That 's  true  for  you,  Jock !  "  I  cry. 

He  is  vexed,  however,  at  this  slip,  and  essays 
to  hide  his  confusion  in  the  depths  of  his  tumbler. 
I  fancy  I  see  his  meaning:  Honesty  and  I  are 
both  too  foolishly  kind  to  have  been  born  north 
of  the  Tweed.  In  our  dread  of  hurting  people's 
feelings  we  become  dangerously  near  to  being 
insincere. 

"  Aweel,"  observes  Baillie,  rising,  "  I  '11  leave 
my  secret  with  you,  Swift.  It  is  yours  to  treat 
as  you  will.  On  Saturday  I  shall  be  at  Glas- 
gow." He  sighed  once  more  under  the  cares  of 
a  world  of  woe. 

"  You  '11  write  me  a  word  of  the  lassie  now 
and  then?" 

"  Rely  upon  it,"  said  I,  positively. 

He  goes,  and  I  smoke  on  after  he  has  gone — 
thinking,  thinking.  I  am  sentimental  to  a  de- 
gree; and  find,  surprisedly,  that  I  have  a  head- 
ache long  ere  twelve  has  struck.  I  am,  in  truth, 
puzzling  over  the  signs  and  portents  of  our 
comedy.  Honesty  has  been  to  seek,  of  late;  she 
has  never  been  in  her  garden  when  I  have  walked 


Honesty's  Garden  45 

in  mine.  One  might  say  that  she  has  avoided 
me;  but  that  would  be  absurd. 

Jones  has  not  gone  to  bed.  She  taps  at  the 
door,  and  enters — feigning  astonishment  to  dis- 
cover me  still  about.  She  fusses  over  the  siphons 
and  the  empty  glasses.  "  It 's  beginning  to 
rain,  sir,"  she  volunteers. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  John  had  to  take  an  umbrella." 

"  It  won't  be  more  than  a  shower,  I  think," 
Jones  goes  on.  Her  back  is  purposely  turned  to 
me.  "  It  '11  do  the  country  a  lot  of  good.  They 
say  rain  's  wanted  bad  in  the  country." 

"  This  country 's  always  wanting  something 
badly,"  I  say. 

"  The  young  lady  next  door  will  be  glad  to 
see  the  rain,"  remarks  Jones,  still  fussing. 
"  She  's  quite  given  over  watering  her  garding. 
Perhaps  you  noticed  the  place  don't  look  half 
so  nice  this  last  day  or  two?  " 

I  try  to  think  whether  I  have  noticed  any 
change  for  the  worse  in  Honesty's  garden. 
Meanwhile  Jones  is  still  talking. 

"  People  can't  bother  about  gardings  though, 
when  they  've  got  other  troubles." 

"  Other  troubles?  "  I  become  vaguely  aware 
that  Jones  is  leading  up  to  a  climax. 

"  Yes,  sir,  they  do  say  Mrs.  Dene  has  lost  all 
her  money  through  some  lawyer.  Haven't  you 
heard  about  it?  " 


46  Honesty's  Garden 

"  You  should  n't  listen  to  silly  tales,  Jones," 
I  tell  her,  not  believing  the  story  for  an  instant. 
u  They  say,  indeed !  Folk  who  tittle-tattle  make 
most  of  the  mischief  in  this  world.  I  'm  sur- 
prised you  should  encourage  idle  gossip." 

Jones  turns  about.  Her  face  is  rather  red.  I 
hope  she  hasn't  developed,  under  Baillie's  (and 
my)  bad  example,  a  taste  for  the  contents  of 
my  little  cask.  Really,  her  voice  is  rather 
shaky 

"  I  knew  you  did  n't  know,"  she  is  saying. 
"  She  is  so  proud,  that  one.  Yes,  sir,  it 's  quite 
true ;  I  've  cried  my  eyes  out  about  them  having 
to  leave — such  a  kind,  gentle  young  lady — she  's 
not  made  for  a  hard  life ;  it  will  break  her  heart 
to  have  to  give  it  all  up " 

"Give  it  all  up?"  says  I,  vexed  with  Jones. 
"  I  'm  sure  /  give  it  up.  Whatever  are  you  talk- 
ing about?  There,  never  mind  to  explain — I 
daresay  I  can  guess.  You  had  better  get  along 
to  bed." 

She  goes  floundering  out  of  the  room.  I 
shouldn't  like  to  swear  she  wasn't  crying. 
Maudlin — oh,  horrible! 

I  smoke  on  to  regain  my  peace  of  mind.    My 

Jones  a No,  I  can't  believe  it.     Any  other 

Jones,  but  not  my  Jones.  She  has  been  teetotal 
from  birth;  I  could  swear  it.  I  must  put 
temptation  out  of  her  way. 


Honesty's  Garden  47 

Remembering  my  letters,  not  looked  at  since 
Baillie  arrived  prior  to  the  post,  I  rise  and  cross 
to  my  desk.  Book  lists,  advertising  works  at  a 
very  fair  sum  over  and  above  their  market  value ; 
an  appeal  from  a  Right  Honourable  for  my  pres- 
ence (and  presents)  at  a  dinner  in  aid  of  the 
funds  of  the  Something  or  other  Society;  an 
astounding  offer  of  a  book-case  and  the  twenty 
handsome  volumes  of  the  Snippet  Library  of 
Imperishable  Literature — for  five  shillings  down 
and  a  subscription  of  sixpence  a  week  for  ten 
years ;  two  coal  circulars — lowest  summer  prices. 
A  postcard  from  Aunt  Sophie,  threatening  an- 
other call  as  soon  as  the  motor-car  has  been 
repaired;  a  letter  from  the  Colosseum 

I  must  sit  down  to  this.  Something  has  oc- 
curred.    I  had  my  dividend  last  month. 

"  Dear  Sir, — An  Extraordinary  General  Meet- 
ing of  the  Shareholders  will  be  held  at  the  offices 
on  Friday,  July  10th  next,  to  consider  im- 
mediately necessary  proposals  concerning  the 
future  welfare  of  the  Company.  You  are  re- 
quested to  either  attend,  or  appoint  a  proxy  by 
completing  the  attached  form. 
"  Faithfully  yours,  etc., 

"  John  Carruthers,  Secretary." 

Necessary   proposals?     What   may    these   be, 


48  Honesty's  Garden 

and  why  immediately  necessary?  How  dare  the 
faithfully  yours  John  Carruthers  alarm  me  in 
this  fashion,  just  as  I  am  going  to  bed?  Eeally, 
it  might  almost  mean  a  "  call  " — but  that 's 
absurd.     The  Colosseum  can't  need  capital. 

I  take  up  the  evening  paper,  only  glanced  at 
until  this  moment.  Bother  Baillie,  interrupt- 
ing me  with  his  love  affairs!  I  turn  the  pages 
to  see  if  by  chance  there  is  any  comment  re- 
ferring to  the  Colosseum,  or  giving  me  a  clue. 
Why  could  n't  Carruthers  say  right  out  if  there's 
anything  wrong? 

Nothing :  that 's  good.  The  usual  announce- 
ments in  the  literary  column :  "  On  the  author- 
ity of  the  Colosseum  we  learn  that  Miss  Blank's 
new  book  will  be  published  in  the  early  autumn 

by  Mr. "    And  so  on ;  every  reference  to  the 

great  periodical  marked  by  the  respect  and  con- 
sideration shown  as  of  yore.  The  Colosseum 
says  it:  it  is  therefore  right.  We  are  safe  in 
taking  it  for  granted,  etc.,  etc. 

The  clock  strikes  in  the  hall.  Twelve — save 
us!  What  hours  for  Carbridge-on-the-Mole.  I 
throw  the  paper  down  hastily  on  my  desk;  and 
even  so  my  eye  is  attracted  by  a  name,  "  The 
Burnaby  Mystery." 

I  read,  without  much  interest,  in  the  stop-press 
column,  that  no  further  developments  have  oc- 
curred since  the  sensational  disappearance  of 


Honesty's  Garden  49 

Mr.  Burnaby's  brother.  Burnaby?  The  name 
is  n't  uncommon,  of  course.  I  am  moved  to  pick 
up  the  paper  once  more. 

Ah !  here  it  is.  "  The  Burnaby  Mystery. — We 
fear  that  the  solution  of  the  above  will  prove, 
after  all,  a  very  sordid  romance.  Absolutely 
trustworthy  information  came  to  hand  this 
morning  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Francis  Burnaby, 
the  well-known  editor  of  the  Colosseum,  had  not 
returned  to  his  home  since  Tuesday  last.  His 
brother  has  been  missing,  as  our  readers  are 
aware,  for  fully  a  week.  Inquiries  serve  to  show 
that  the  affairs  of  both  Mr.  Francis  Burnaby 
and  Mr.  Henry  Burnaby,  the  solicitor  of  Great 
St.  Helens,  are  considerably  involved;  and  an 
application  in  the  Bankruptcy  Court  was  made 
to-day  in  reference  to  Mr.  Henry  Burnaby. 
There  is  no  doubt,  in  our  minds,  that  the  brothers 
have  absconded.  It  is  said  that  their  failure 
will  terribly  prejudice  many  persons;  the  Great 
St.  Helens  firm  having  especially  enjoyed  the 
confidence  of  its  clients  to  a  wholly  unpre- 
cedented degree." 

My  first  feeling  is  one  of  rage.  Frank  Bur- 
naby absconded!  Coupled  with  Carruthers' 
note  I  can  guess  that  he  has  played  ducks  and 
drakes  with  the  accounts  of  the  Colosseum.  He 
has  had  complete  and  utter  control;  he  was  the 
kind  of  man  who  would!     What  idiots  we  have 


50  Honesty's  Garden 

been;  the  paper  has  been  more  than  usually  in- 
sufferably arrogant  of  late;  more  contemptuous 
than  ever  of  everything.  But  its  many  pages  of 
advertisements  blinded  us  to  the  truth  of  the 
old  adage,  "  Pride  goeth  before  a  fall." 

Burnaby,  too,  who  has  presumed  to  cut  up  my 
reviews — to  blue  pencil  my  articles!  Burnaby, 
whose  violent  antipathies  have  more  than  once 
brought  the  Colosseum  perilously  near  the  Law 
Courts.  (I  recollect  that  Henry  Burnaby  has 
invariably  been  the  solicitor  when  libel  actions 
have  threatened!) 

Burnaby,  the  brilliant  epigrammatist,  whose 
Life  of  Queen  Elizabeth  was,  and  is,  one  of  the 
great  books  of  our  time.  Capable,  shrewd,  in- 
domitable, unerring  fault-finder — sent  to  chas- 
tise authors  for  their  manifold  sins.  I  can  say 
here,  without  hesitation,  that  Burnaby  has  had 
an  astounding  influence  on  literature.  He  has 
been  head  gardener  for  years  to  the  whole  estate ; 
and  such  a  head  gardener!  No  weeds  allowed; 
all  bushes  rigorously  pruned  in  the  spring  (and 
autumn,  if  necessary)  ;  plants  disbudded — that 
they  may  produce  fine  flowers  only. 

This  has  n't  always  come  about.  The  process 
of  disbudding  is  painful.  It  has  been  known  to 
kill. 

Burnaby :  autocrat,  genius — thief !  There 's.  a 
three  in  one,  if  you  will.     I  expect  he  has  simply 


Honesty's  Garden  51 

chosen  to  be  a  thief,  just  to  astound  the  world, 
and  to  prove  that  our  estimate  of  him  has  been 
entirely  wide  of  the  mark. 

I  suddenly  observe  that  my  headache  is 
much  worse,  and  go  to  bed  feeling  vexed  with 
everybody. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  Are  you  better,  Mr.  Swift?  " 

"  Quite  myself  again,"  I  tell  Honesty,  sense- 
lessly, in  reply  to  her  questioning.  She  has 
stopped  me  from  the  vantage  of  her  garden  gate, 
and  smiled  upon  my  appearance  of  hurry. 

"  You  are  going  to  London?  " 

"  Yes ;  now  and  every  day,  I  expect.  I  find 
that  one  can't  go  on  being  lazy;  one  must  work 
to  live." 

Honesty  nods,  and  sets  her  little  mouth 
primly.  The  smile  gently  disappears.  "  I  am 
going  to  be  a  woman  of  business,  I  must  tell 
you,"  she  declares.  "  Mother  has  agreed  to  my 
taking  up  typewriting  and  I  am  learning  quite 
cleverly.     But  you  want  to  catch  your  train." 

"  Walk  to  the  station  with  me,"  I  meanly  sug- 
gest ;  I  fancy  Baillie  is  not  far  away.  "  Come 
along  as  you  are ;  you  look  very  nice." 

The  smile  returns.  "  Can  you  wait  a  mo- 
ment? I  want  to  show  you  some  of  my  typ- 
ing— "  She  flutters  across  her  garden  into  the 
quiet  hall,  just  as  Baillie  turns  the  end  of  the 
lane.     Ridiculous  of  him  to  be  so  early. 

52 


Honesty's  Garden  53 

Honesty  soon  finds  a  hat,  and  reappears, 
carrying  a  small  roll  of  paper.  "  There  you  are. 
It 's — it 's  a  story.  You  are  to  admire  the 
typing." 

"  And  the  story?  " 

"  Perhaps.  Now,  here  is  something  for  you — 
because  I  want  you  to  be  very  kind."  She  hands 
me  a  rose,  which  I  insist  on  her  pinning  in  my 
coat.  This  gives  Baillie  no  excuse  to  stay  as  he 
passes  us.  He  looks  furious  with  us  both,  and 
Honesty  flushes  as  pinkly  charming  as  the  rose 
itself,  only  more  so.  I  have  n't  the  gift  of  think- 
ing pretty  things  like  Baillie.  "  Morning  to 
you,  Jock — it 's  lovely  weather." 

"  Aye,"  growls  he,  sulkily.  "  It 's  lovely 
enough — for  some  of  us." 

He  glares  at  the  poor  little  thing,  and  I  know 
she  is  trembling.  What  wretches  these  lovers 
are.  Next  minute  we  are  trotting  along  behind 
Mr.  Baillie,  who  affects  to  be  oblivious  of  the  fact. 

"  Perhaps  you  may  have  heard — "  begins 
Honesty;  then  comes  to  a  full  stop.  She  tries 
again.  "  I  want  you  to  like  the  typing  very 
much,"  she  goes  on,  awkwardly.  "  Because  it  is 
rather  necessary " 

"  Very  necessary,"  I  interrupt,  "  now  that 
writing  is  n't  taught  in  the  schools." 

"  I  mean  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  do  it,  you 
know,"  she  explains  rapidly.     "  Mother  has  had 


54  Honesty's  Garden 

business  bothers.  You  have  heard  of  them,  pos- 
sibly ;  things  do  so  get  round  when  they  're  not 
pleasant."  There  is  a  bitter  note  in  her  fresh 
young  voice  which  I  don't  like  at  all.  "  But 
you  must  know,  even  if  gossip  has  n't  told  you," 
she  continues.  "  We  always  regard  you  as  a 
neighbour  in  the  best  sense,  Mr.  Swift.  I  am 
anxious,  very  anxious,  to  be  able  to  earn  a  little 
money,  and  perhaps  you  would  n't  mind " 

"  It  would  be  a  great  privilege,"  I  tell  her, 
naturally.  "  I  am  able  to  help  you,  my  dear 
child,  and  I  will  do  so.  I  '11  read  your  story  in 
the  train." 

"  Oh,  you  're  not  to  think  it 's  my  story."  She 
makes  a  quick  gesture  of  denial.  "  I  am  only 
responsible  for  the  typing." 

"  Who  is  the  author? "  I  inquire.  Honesty 
laughs  mysteriously.  I  am  to  read  the  story, 
and  then  I  shall  guess.  And,  if  I  don't  think  the 
typing  too  awful,  perhaps  I  '11  try  to  get  her 
some  work? 

How  much  a  thousand?  She  shakes  her  head 
hopelessly.  I  am  to  fix  the  price;  I  know  about 
that,  of  course. 

We  catch  up  Baillie,  and,  between  us,  win  him 
to  a  better  humour.  When  Honesty  has  left  us, 
Baillie  becomes  communicative.  He  tells  me, 
with  fiery  indignation,  that  Honesty  is  a  pure 
lass,  a  brave  lass,  and  that  all  lawyers  are  rogues. 


Honesty's  Garden  55 

"  There  are  others/'  I  suggest  timidly ;  but 
just  then  the  train  arrives,  and  conversation  is 
checked.  When  we  are  safely  in  the  carriage 
he  drops  his  paper,  and  pronounces  lawyers  to 
be  the  worst  kind.  I  hear  an  incoherent  ac- 
count of  it,  gathered,  as  I  can't  help  thinking, 
chiefly  from  imagination  and  the  halfpenny 
press. 

"  She  's  so  proud,  she  is.  Not  a  word  of  com- 
plaint; not  a  syllable  even  hinting  it.  One 
would  n't  believe  there  was  any  trouble  at  all — - 
to  see  the  dear  lassie.  They  say  it 's  near  ruin 
to  them ;  they  '11  have  to  leave  Carbridge " 

"  No!  "  I  interject. 

"  Yes,"  he  asserts,  emphatically.  "  How  can 
they  keep  the  place  going?  It  costs  money  to 
live,  even  out  in  the  country — as  he  has  proved 
for  himself." 

"  It  costs  money  to  live  anywhere." 

"  Not  so  much  in  some  places  as  in  others. 
Of  course,  I  am  not  in  their  confidence."  He 
glances  at  me  malevolently  for  a  second,  includ- 
ing the  pink  rose  in  my  button-hole.  I  am 
tempted  to  vex  him. 

"  Mrs.  and  Miss  Dene  will  not  leave  Car- 
bridge." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  it ;  but  I  'm  fearing 
you  won't  believe  the  truth.  You  were  always 
happy-go-lucky,  Swift ;  always  for  wearing  rose  " 


56  Honesty's  Garden 

■ — (again  he  eyes  my  floral  decoration) — "rose- 
coloured  spectacles." 

"  Miss  Dene  lias  saved  the  situation  for  her- 
self," I  calmly  instruct  him.  "  She  is  a  wonder- 
ful girl ;  she  has  learned  typewriting." 

"  Typewriting ! " 

"And  shorthand,  I  make  no  doubt.  I  am 
going  to  be  her  agent;  allow  me  to  solicit  you, 
sir.  Authors'  manuscripts  carefully  corrected 
as  regards  spelling  and  grammar,  and  accurately 
typed.     One  shilling  a  thousand  words " 

"  I  wish  you  might  be  serious,  Swift." 

"  I  have  never  been  more  so.  Here  is  a 
sample  of  our  work;  which  you  shall  see — one 
of  these  days!  My  dear  fellow,  don't  look 
so  ferocious.  Mrs.  Dene  is  my  friend  and 
yours ;  we  can  help  her.  She  must  n't  leave 
Carbridge." 

Baillie  leans  forward,  and,  just  as  if  we  were 
not  alone  in  the  carriage,  sinks  his  voice  to  a 
despairing  whisper.  "  Man,  it  is  n't  the  help  we 
can  give  that  she  can  accept.  Do  you  no  ken 
it 's  a  crash  for  them?  The  scoundrel  had  all, 
I  fear;  it  was  in  trust  or  something."  He 
groans  almost.  "  My  folk  are  amongst  the  trade 
creditors ;  by  good  luck  we  're  scarcely  touched. 
But  I  've  seen  a  schedule  of  the  debts,  and  I  'm 
telling  you,  Swift,  it 's  ruin  for  hundreds  of 
poor  souls." 


Honesty's  Garden  57 

"  Poor  souls  should  n't  invest  in  fishy  con- 
cerns," say  I,  joking  feebly.  "  They  should  be 
content  with  five  per  cent."  Here  I  remember 
my  own  five  per  cent,  in  Gatherway's,  and 
hastily  move  to  other  ground.  "  Don't  think  me 
heartless,  Jock,  because  I  refuse  to  take  too 
deadly  a  view  of  it  all.  We  're  young  yet — 
at  least  you  are — and  there  is  plenty  of  fight 
in  us.  I  have  had  my  own  bothers  of  late, 
and,  therefore,  I  go  to  London  each  day — in 
search  of  a  fortune.  The  quest  has  not  ex- 
tended, so  far,  beyond  reading — at  the  British 
Museum — but  later  on  I  'm  going  to  write 
such  a  book.  You  shall  have  a  presentation 
copy." 

Even  this  fails  to  cheer  Baillie.  He  is  en- 
joying, in  a  melancholy  way,  an  Oxford  fit  of 
the  blues.  He  purses  his  lips,  and  wags  his  chin, 
and  becomes  particularly  Scotch  in  aspect.  I 
notice  his  prominent  cheek-bones  and  the  sandi- 
ness  of  his  wiry  hair.  And  yet  I  can't  help 
liking  him. 

"  Aye,  I  've  heard,"  he  growls.  "  It  was  the 
brother  who  bit  you.  A  pretty  pair.  I  would 
dearly  like  the  handling  of  them." 

At  first  I  don't  grasp  it.  "  The  brother?  You 
don't  mean  that  it's  Burnaby?" 

His  chin  still  wags  irritatingly.  "  Henry 
Burnaby,  no  less,"  he  is  saying,  while  my  wits 


58  Honesty's  Garden 

go  flying.  It  can't  be;  surely  the  world  is  bigger 
than  this! 

"  Henry  Burnaby,  and  he  has  been  lawyer 
enough  to  hide  it  fine.  The  business  has  been 
rotten  for  years;  barely  assets  to  pay  the  costs 
of  bankruptcy.  Mortgage  upon  mortgage,  his 
house  and  effects  were  seized  before  any  one 
could  act.     I  thought  you  knew." 

I  can  only  nod.  I  have  heard  him  as  from  a 
distance.  The  train  pulls  up  at  a  station,  and 
other  passengers  enter  our  carriage.  Further 
conversation  is  impossible,  and  Jock  dives  furi- 
ously into  his  halfpenny  paper.  I  unfold  my 
own  news-sheet  mechanically,  but  the  print 
dances  before  my  eyes.  With  an  effort  I  bring 
my  brain  to  attention. 

I  try  to  read  the  typescript  given  me  by  the 
dear  lass.  (Baillie,  please.  He  put  the  ex- 
pression into  my  vocabulary.)  It  is  even  worse 
than  I  could  have  dreamed — the  story,  I  mean; 
the  typing  is — well,  not  altogether  impossible. 
It's  a  romance  about  love,  and  moonshine  in 
general.  There  is  a  poor  young  man  in  it;  an 
oldish  and  opinionated  entomologist,  who  seems 
a  bit  of  a  bore.  There  is  (how  did  you  guess?)  a 
very  sweet  girl.  The  plot  is  of  the  slightest,  and 
the  style  is  vaguely  familiar.  I  have  a  notion 
that  I  have  read  this  story  before. 

But  all  these  stories  are  alike,  are  n't  they? 


Honesty's  Garden  59 

Little  touches  of  what  the  author  fondly  con- 
ceives to  be  "  local  colour  "  put  me  on  the  scent. 
Dimly  I  discern  Carbridge  in  it,  and  Baillie — 
or  somebody  much  like  him.  The  very  sweet 
girl  might  be  a  dress-model  for 

Yes,  she  might  be  a  symbol  for  Honesty.  She 
does  not  suggest  anything  approaching  the  ori- 
ginal. An  ill-focussed  photograph,  let  us  say, 
taken  by  an  amateur  who  has  just  won  a  kodak 
in  a  raffle 

I  have  it !  It  is  Baillie's  story.  He  has  dared 
to  perpetrate  prose.  The  'prentice  hand  shows 
throughout ;  an  absurd  belief  in  ideals  dominates 
all  the  characters — especially  that  of  the  butter- 
fly-hunting ass  of  a  fellow  who  marries  the  Very 
Sweet  Girl  at  the  conclusion.  The  youth  goes 
to  the  "  Salwanners,  where  the  war  is  " ;  gets  an 
honourable  wound,  and  lightning  promotion.  It 
is  all  very  touching;  and  quite  untrue  to  life. 

Still,  it  is  rather  "  magaziney,"  if  I  may  coin 
a  word.  I  sent  it  to  Rollaston,  of  the  Balmoral 
Monthly,  after  I  had  taken  off  the  ribbon  and 
smoothed  the  "roll"  out  of  the  pages.  Con- 
ceive Rollaston's  face  at  sight  of  a  neatly-rolled 
beribboned  typescript! 

I  must  advise  Honesty  what  not  to  do  when 
typing.  She  has  much  to  learn;  her  spacing 
has  n't  attained  perfection  all  at  once. 

This  brings  me  back  to  thoughts  of  her  trouble 


60  Honesty's  Garden 

— and  Henry  Burnaby.  I  feel  myself  respon- 
sible; it  is  certain  that  I  have  a  right  to  insist 
upon  her  permitting  that  help  which  Baillie  is 
so  cocksure  she  won't  accept.  I  am  annoyed  that 
Baillie  should  have  learned  so  much  of  the  Denes' 
private  affairs ;  also  that  I  should  have  known  so 
little.      I  must  be  terribly  self-centred,  that 's 

clear.     Even  Jones  knew 

But  servants  always  know  everything. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Rollaston  of  the  Balmoral  Monthly  answers 
me  almost  by  return  of  post.  "  Just  the  thing," 
he  declares,  in  true  editorially  abrupt  manner. 
"  Tell  your  friend  we  '11  take  another  when  he 
likes.  I  suppose  five  guineas  will  be  about  it — 
for  British  serial  rights?  If  so,  please  sign  en- 
closed receipt.  Why  don't  you  always  do  this 
sort  of  stuff?  " 

Nice,  is  n't  it?  After  years  of  literary  work  of 
a  substantial  description,  and  getting  well  into 
"  Who  's  Who  " — a  mere  tyro's  effort  is  mistaken 
for  your  own,  and  you  are  congratulated  upon  it. 

I  take  the  receipt  to  the  house  next  door.  The 
garden  has  been  dull  of  late.  The  weather  has 
been  changeable,  and  some  of  the  nights  quite 
cold.  I  have  n't  allowed  Jones  to  talk.  She 
would  love  to ;  but  sees  me  uncongenial,  and,  ap- 
parently, utterly  uninterested.  She  must  think 
me  a  regular  old  curmudgeon. 

I  wish  so  much  to  find  a  plan  by  which  I  can 
help  my  good  friends.  My  courage  has  failed 
me  so  far,  and  my  power  of  invention.     If  Mrs. 

61 


62  Honesty's  Garden 

Dene  were  only  a  man  ...  it  would  be  just  as 
awkward ! 

Honesty  is  delighted  with  my  news;  so,  evi- 
dently, Baillie  need  not  be  down-hearted.  I  find 
myself  growing  cross  at  the  thought  that  she 
cares  for  him;  although  I  have  been  certain  of 
it  throughout.  This  story  will  come  out  all 
wrong  although  he  will  get  five  guineas  for  it. 
He  won't  go  to  the  Salwanners,  where  the  war  is. 
Not  he. 

"  It  is  good  of  you,"  Honesty  tells  me,  as  we 
sit  in  the  lamplight  in  the  old-fashioned,  sweet- 
smelling  parlour  of  the  Home.  How  very  fra- 
grant beeswax  and  turpentine  can  become  when 
applied  in  the  proper  quantities  to  the  proper 
kind  of  furniture.  There  is  a  refreshing  atmos- 
phere about  me,  and  I  am  refreshed  to  perceive 
my  friends  so  brave  under  misfortune.  As 
Baillie  said,  one  would  never  believe  they  had 
such  trouble. 

Perhaps  he  has  exaggerated?  I  am  satisfied 
that  he  has  exaggerated.  Mrs.  Dene  smiles  at 
me  from  her  seat  by  the  table.  She  is  sewing 
busily,  and  takes  little  part  in  the  conversation. 
Honesty  and  I  occupy  the  window  seat. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure,"  I  am  saying. 

"  And  so  quick,  too,"  she  cries.  "  Fancy  sell- 
ing the  story,  after  all." 

(i  Did  n't  you  mean  me  to  sell  it?  "  I  demand. 


Honesty's  Garden  63 

"  Well,  primarily,  the  idea  was  to  show  you 
how  nicely  I  can  type.  Mr.  Wright  lets  me  use 
his  typewriter;  I  did  the  story  at  his  office.  It 
was  a  tremendous  joke — the  Undertaker  taught 
me  the  keyboard,  and  was  most  patient." 

(Wright  is  a  local  house  agent  and  surveyor. 
The  Undertaker  is  his  boy ;  a  weird,  prematurely 
ancient  creature  of  quite  sixteen  years.) 

"  The  typing,  no  doubt,  did  the  trick,"  I  re- 
mark. "  And  now  we  come  to  business.  Will 
you  kindly  sign  the  receipt,  then  I  will  give  you 
the  money." 

"  I  can't  take  that.  I  am  only  in  it  so  far  as 
the  typing  is  concerned." 

"  Deduct  your  charges,  and  hand  the  balance 
to  the  author." 

She  glances  at  me,  and  flushes  a  little.  She 
hesitates.  Finally — "  I  don't  think  I  ought  to 
charge  anything,"  she  says,  with  something  un- 
accountably like  defiance  in  her  tone.  "  You 
liked  the  story?  " 

"  It  was  very  pretty." 

"  Only  pretty?  " 

I  hedged.  "  Well,  you  can  see  for  yourself  it 
is  more  than  that.  Here  are  five  guineas.  I 
suppose  I  had  better  sign  the  receipt  to  save 
explanations  with  the  editor.  The  story  ought 
to  have  somebody's  name  to  it,  though,  as 
author." 


64  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  Mr.  Swift,  Honesty?  " 
Her  mother  smiles  up  from  her  sewing. 

"  It  would  spoil  it  all,"  Honesty  alleges. 

"  It  seemed  familiar  to  me,  curiously 
enough — "  I  am  beginning,  then  realise  that  this 
is  rather  rude  if  Baillie  wrote  the  story.  But 
Honesty  is  pleased  to  encourage  me.  "  Yes,  yes 
— go  on !  " 

"  Oh,  that  ?s  all,  you  know.  It  reminded  me 
of — of  another  story  I  've  read.  I  admired  the 
heroine;  she  was  a  dear." 

Honesty  relapses  into  little  ripples  of  laughter 
at  this;  so  totally  unexpected  as  to  quite  flurry 
me.  I  could  make  nothing  of  her,  and,  to  tell 
the  truth,  felt  rather  annoyed  about  it — for  the 
moment.  It  seemed  so  ridiculous  to  make  all 
this  mystery  over  young  Baillie  and  his  writings, 
even  if  one  were  in  love  with  him.  I  moved  to 
the  table  and  signed  the  receipt;  then  counted 
out  five  pounds  and  five  shillings.  "  The  story 
shall  be  anonymous,  then?  " 

Honesty  controlled  herself  with  an  effort. 
"  If  you  please." 

I  prepared  to  go,  but  she  begged  me  to  take 
up  the  money. 

"  It 's  not  mine,"  she  stated,  definitely  refusing 
it. 

"  Give  it  to  the  author  and  tell  him  to  write 
another  as  soon  as  he  can.     There  's  a  market 


Honesty's  Garden  65 

for  everything  that's  sentimental,  and — 
Scotch." 

She  picked  up  the  five  shillings  and  left  the 
gold.  "  Is  that  too  much,  do  you  think?  "  she 
asked,  her  eyes  steady  before  mine.  A  flicker 
of  doubt  clouded  those  forget-me-nots  (bother 
Baillie,  why  does  he  talk  such  bosh). 

"  Exactly  right,"  I  hastily  and  incorrectly  in- 
formed her.  (Two  shillings  a  thousand  words! 
Stark  ruination  for  us  poor  authors.) 

"  Why  did  you  say  Scotch?  "  she  inquired,  her 
mind  working.     "  You  're  not  Scotch,  are  you?  " 

Woman's  way.  Makes  a  definite  assertion, 
then  queries  it. 

"  I  will  give  it  to  Baillie  myself,"  I  said,  throw- 
ing diplomacy  to  the  winds. 

She  positively  stared  at  me,  this  perplexing 
young  thing,  while  Mrs.  Dene  chuckled  suddenly. 
"  You  must  tell  him,  Honesty,"  she  urged. 

"  Whatever  can  you  think  of  me?  "  Honesty 
found  breath  to  demand,  really  blushing.  "  Mr. 
Baillie? "  She  crushed  me  with  "  You  must 
think  very  badly  of  me." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't.    I  think  very  well  of  you." 

"  You  have  no  business  to  think  of  me  at  all 
— in  such  a  way."  She  collected  the  five  little 
gold  discs,  and  rattled  them  into  the  ticket  pocket 
of  my  lounge  coat.  "  Guess  again,  please — and 
meanwhile   hold    the   stakes."     Then    she   was 


66  Honesty's  Garden 

struck  by  another  aspect  of  the  joke,  and  laughed 
again  and  again.  It  was  so  contagious  that  I 
laughed  too —  goodness  knows  why. 

They  made  me  stay  to  supper.  I  amused  them 
with  an  account  of  Keedels  the  cat,  who  has 
lately  taken  to  sleeping  in  the  shed — to  the  ex- 
treme vexation  of  Jones.  She  very  rightly 
argues  that  bed  is  the  proper  place  for  every  one 
at  nights.  Keedels,  however,  remains  at  home 
all  day,  and  starts  off  at  dusk  on  peregrinations 
of  his  own.     He  returns  when  he  thinks  he  will. 

"  If  Jones  were  to  lose  her  cat,"  declared 
Honesty,  "  it  would  be  an  end  to  your  peace  of 
mind.  She  would  simply  leave  you,  books  and 
all." 

"  I  should  retire  to  a  Home  for  Virtuous 
Bachelors,  where  we  should  have  no  visiting 
days,"  I  announced;  "an  Eden  of  perfect  peace 
— Eves  not  admitted." 

"  You  poor  things,  would  n't  you  be  lonely 
and  would  n't  you  all  get  tired  of  hearing  about 
each  other's  virtues !  No  one  to  sympathise  with 
you,  and — listen.  It  wouldn't  be  a  paradise" 
— she  peeped  up  at  me — "  it  would  be — the  other 
place." 

"  Honesty !  "     Her  mother  was  shocked. 

"  It  would  not  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Swift,"  the 
naughty  girl  continued.     "  You  're  too " 

"  Too  what?  " 


Honesty's  Garden  67 

"  Too  fond  of — Eves.  I  saw  you  with  two — 
no,  three — the  other  day." 

"  Aunt  Sophie,  Cousin  Eva  and " 

"  Never  mind.  We  won't  press  the  point. 
Besides,  your  writing  betrays  you." 

"  But  nobody  reads  my  books." 

"  Don't  fish,  it 's  close  time  for  compliments. 
I  did  n't  mean  your  books,  but  your  handwriting. 
Did  n't  you  know  I  was  a  graphologist?  " 

"  No — nor  that  you  knew  my  handwriting." 

That  was  a  thrust  for  her.  She  parried  it, 
and  made  riposte.  She  indicated  the  receipt, 
which  still  defied  me  from  the  far  side  of  the 
table.  Honesty  took  it  up,  flattened  it  out  be- 
side her.  "  Indicative  of  terrible  characteristics 
— that  loop  and  flourish.  You  must  reform 
without  delay." 

"  Won't  you  help  in  the  great  work?  " 

"  She  would  only  make  you  far  worse,"  said 
Mrs.  Dene,  finally. 

I  do  not  believe  that  at  all.  I  consider  Baillie 
a  lucky  young  man;  and  I  wish  I  were  in  his 
broad-toed  shoes.  Going  home  (by  the  short  cut 
through  the  sweetbriar  hedge)  I  sighed.  It  oc- 
curred to  me  that  Honesty,  for  all  her  high 
spirits,  made  a  pathetic  little  figure.  There  was 
an  under-note  of  sadness  in  her  voice — so  I 
fancied  more  than  once.  Mrs.  Dene,  too,  was 
quieter  even  than  usual,  and  seemed  preoccupied. 


68  Honesty's  Garden 

I  trust  Baillie's  surmise  is  n't  anywhere  near  the 
truth. 

I  wonder  who  wrote  that  infernal  story,  and 
what  I  'm  to  do  with  this  five  pounds? 

Happy  thought :  I  '11  buy  Honesty  a  typewriter 
— she  can't  refuse  that.  She  cannot  go  on  using 
Wright's  machine  interminably;  the  Undertaker 
will  get  the  sack,  for  sure !  I  '11  see  that  the 
child  has  plenty  to  do ;  and  the  pay  shall  be  as 
much  per  thousand  as  I  can  persuade  her  to 
accept. 

Baillie  must  be  encouraged  also.  It  will  be 
delightful  to  help  these  interesting  young  begin- 
ners. It  makes  one  young  oneself  to  help.  How 
much  does  that  boy  earn  per  annum?  Can  I 
influence  his  prospects? 

I  recollect  he  is  a  Scotsman.  These  always 
prosper  when  they  're  steady — and  sober. 

How  fine  to  be  a  genie,  just  to  clap  my  hands, 
and  build  castles  for  all  the  folk  I  like !  But  I 
would  n't  alter  Honesty's  garden  in  one  single, 
tiny  particular. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

It  is  the  unexpected  that  happens — exemplified 
once  again.  The  Extraordinary  General  Meet- 
ing of  Shareholders  of  the  Colosseum  elicits  the 
fact  that  the  late  editor,  managing  director,  and 
autocrat,  Francis  Burnaby,  has  availed  himself 
pretty  considerably  of  the  trust  reposed  in  him. 
He  has  been,  in  a  fine  and  truly  grand  manner, 
employing  to  his  own  uses  such  of  our  funds  as 
he  has  desired.  Embezzlement,  to  put  an  ugly 
name  to  it,  has  been  going  on  for  years ;  and  the 
auditors  have  been  fairly  easily  hoodwinked 
with  forged  receipts  and  the  like.  Of  course, 
we  were  all  fearfully  indignant — it 's  so  easy  to 
be  wise  after  the  event.  But,  in  my  heart,  I 
don't  wonder  that  the  accountants  were  de- 
ceived. Who  could  doubt  Burnaby  in  the  old 
days? 

An  Oxford  man,  and  a  ripe  scholar.  A  man 
who  lived  plainly  in  Chelsea,  whose  acquaintance 
was  a  privilege,  and  whose  library  a  perpetual 
amazement  and  delight.  If  ever  any  one  had 
the  knack  of  collecting  books  in  the  real  sense, 
it  was  Burnaby.     Many  's  the  browse  I  have  had 

69 


7°  Honesty's  Garden 

Sunday  afternoons,  in  that  long,  narrow  room 
built  across  the  house  above  the  hall,  so  near 
to  the  Highway  and  yet  so  remote  from  its 
noises  and  bustle.  He  always  had  the  book  you 
wanted;  and  yet  his  was  not  a  large  collection. 
He  knew  just  what  you  desired  to  know;  the 
particular  work  was  in  your  hands  in  a  second. 
The  backwaters  of  literature  as  well  as  its  fair- 
ways, had  been  equally  explored  by  this  curious 
man :  he  could  tell  you  the  past,  the  present,  and 
even  the  future  of  books.  Some  say  because  he 
damned  them  all;  but  this  is  not  the  fact.  He 
was  ever  sparing  of  praise,  but  his  judgment 
was  wonderfully  sound. 

A  musician,  too.  His  criticisms  of  the  present 
Italian  school — bitter,  destructive,  wholesome — ■ 
have  done  much  to  purify  the  too  florid  outpour- 
ings of  those  young  geniuses.  Burnaby  was 
no  mean  executant;  a  warm  admirer  of  Chopin, 
he  had  his  melodies  at  command  on  a  very 
sweet-toned  German  short-grand  piano.  To 
read  whilst  he  played — well,  those  were  divine 
moments. 

And,  under  it  all,  a  thief 

Worse,  it  appears.  Still,  God  knows  how 
strong  are  some  temptations  to  some  natures. 
I  could  not  chorus  the  general  condemnation, 
being  pitifully  aware  of  my  own  manifold  sins 
— little  mean  sins. 


Honesty's  Garden  71 

Part  of  his  discarded  mantle  descends  on  me; 
and  this  is  where  the  unexpected  occurs.  I  am 
to  be  sub-editor  of  the  Colosseum.  For  my 
father's  sake,  I  imagine.  John  Carruthers,  still 
the  secretary  of  the  company,  had  a  lot  to  do 
with  the  appointment — he  is  a  kind  fellow. 
There  will  be  a  reasonable  salary  to  make  up 
for  my  loss  of  dividends.  Proper  economy  is  to 
be  the  order  of  the  day,  and  the  directors  evi- 
dently regard  me  as  a  reformer.  The  salary  will 
be  most  welcome,  because  there  is  also  a  call. 
We  all  have  to  dip  deeply  into  our  balances  to 
make  good  a  vital  part  of  the  Burnaby  defalca- 
tions. I  foresee  no  holiday  this  year;  but  I 
don't  mind.  Carbridge  is  pleasant  enough  for 
an  idle  day  or  so.  The  fishing  has  been  capital 
of  late. 

I  am  so  busy  with  my  new  honours  and  work 
that  I  lose  touch  with  Baillie.  He  has  kept  me 
posted  hitherto  with  knowledge  of  the  business 
affairs  in  our  Comedy  of  Love.  Now,  for  a  little, 
I  am  shut  off  from  it  altogether:  but  I  see  no 
sign  that  weeds  are  getting  the  upper  hand  in 
the  garden  next  door.  Indeed,  it  looks  more 
trim  and  charming  than  ever.  The  roses  have 
passed  their  first  stage,  but  now  the  perennials 
are  showing  flower.  Giant  phloxes,  pentste- 
mons,  antirrhinums  abound.  Lilies  are  making 
the  air  heavy  with  perfume;  carnations  are  gay- 


72  Honesty's  Garden 

est  of  the  gay.  Against  the  house  the  fig-tree  is 
fruiting  well;  and  the  vine,  too — although 
grapes  can  never  ripen  out  of  doors  in  an  Eng- 
lish climate.  Astonishing  how  that  old  vine 
perseveres,  though,  year  after  year. 

Honesty's  dahlias  appear  promising;  but  bless 
me,  how  the  cruel  little  maid  pinches  out  the 
laterals  and  lower  foliage.  The  dahlias  are  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  planted  full  four  feet 
apart,  in  a  deadly  straight  line  across  the  width 
of  her  garden.  Behind  them  show  well-covered 
poles  of  scarlet  runners ;  in  front  are  little  round 
bushy  dwarf  beans.  Useful  and  ornamental  is 
Honesty's  motto.  Vegetables  and  flowers  to- 
gether, where  possible.  No  inch  of  ground  to 
be  wasted. 

Sweet-peas  still  flourish,  and  are  stuck  in  the 
same  way  as  the  eating  peas.  She  keeps  both 
going  well,  by  continually  gathering  the  blossoms 
of  the  one  and  the  velvety  green  pods  of  the 
other.  In  her  small  conservatory  I  can  spy,  by 
peeping  when  the  door  is  wide,  begonias  double 
and  single,  zonal  geraniums,  and  those  kings  of 
all  house  plants,  gloxinias — while  I  know  the 
hoya  is  in  bloom.  I  had  a  glimpse  of  Baillie  in 
the  city  one  day,  with  a  spray  of  it  in  his  coat. 
It  is  really  wicked  to  pick  the  hoya,  as  it  always 
blossoms  on  the  same  spur. 

Yesterday  I  heard  it  might  be  necessary  for 


Honesty's  Garden  73 

me  to  run  up  to  Edinburgh.  Gatherway,  strange 
creature  that  he  is,  has  written  earnestly  from 
that  city,  begging  me  to  come  to  him.  He  apolo- 
gises briefly  for  his  shortcomings;  states  that  he 
has  something  very  big  in  hand,  which  has  taken 
all  his  energies  and  his  money. 

My  money,  too,  I  remember,  frown  in  gly.  I 
am  not  to  worry,  but  to  come  at  once.  A  friend's 
help  is  essential,  or  he  would  n't  have  bothered. 
Knowing  that  I  have  some  leisure  (I  haven't; 
that 's  all  past  and  done  with),  he  has  ventured 
to  take  rooms  for  me  at  the  Caledonian  Hotel. 
He  will  meet  the  first  train  in  on  Saturday  morn- 
ing, so  that  I  must  travel  Friday  night.  Only 
a  dressing-bag  for  luggage,  as  he  won't  keep  me 
more  than  a  few  days. 

So  he  calmly  arranges  things. 

I  write  rather  nastily,  "  Sorry  can't  manage  it. 
Have  been  appointed  sub-editor  on  Colosseum, 
and  start  duties  Monday.  Had  rather  a  shock 
there,  as  you  can  guess — and  the  money  market 
is  tight.     Yours,  Mortimer  Swift." 

He  wired  instantly,  "  You  must  come.  Im- 
perative.   Gatherway." 

Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  go.  I  have 
told  Gatherway  that  I  commence  on  Monday, 
which  is  true  enough ;  but  it 's  not  Monday  next 
— it's  Monday  fortnight. 

Jones  refuses  to  share  my  optimism  concern- 


74  Honesty's  Garden 

ing  our  neighbours.  I  won't  let  her  speak  out, 
but  she  continues  to  let  me  know  her  opinion  in 
various  ways.  I  have  n't  been  able  to  make  that 
presentation  of  a  typewriter,  after  all.  Some- 
how, it  has  n't  been  so  easy  to  arrange. 

This  afternoon,  when  I  had  returned  from  a 
hard  read  at  the  British  Museum,  I  sat  at  tea  in 
my  den.  My  mirror  occasionally  showed  me 
Honesty  busy  in  her  garden,  and  I  felt  very 
comfortable.  Having  done  a  good  day's  work, 
I  had  pleasure  in  witnessing  some  one  else  at 
it.  Presently  came  the  click  of  the  latch,  and 
Honesty  glanced  up — to  see  the  Undertaker  at 
her  garden  gate. 

He  bowed  with  all  the  dignity  of  an  ancient 
Brummel — a  comprehensive,  flattering,  self- 
effacing  bow.  A  touch  of  colour  burned  his 
sallow  cheeks  temporarily.  Honesty  bade  him 
enter.  I  perceived  that  he  was  carrying  a  large, 
important,  and  hideously  blue  letter. 

He  brought  gloom  with  him,  appropriately. 
The  sun  at  that  instant  permitted  a  cloud  to  ob- 
scure its  jolly  face.  With  all  the  weight  of  his 
sixteen  years,  the  Undertaker  blighted  Honesty's 
garden.     Even  she  seemed  pale,  and  older. 

An  obtrusive  sigh  caused  me  to  attend  to 
Jones.  She  had  brought  me  another  tea-cake, 
hot  and  buttery,  from  her  kitchen  fire.  I  had 
not  heard  her  come  in. 


Honesty's  Garden  75 

"  That 's  twice  to-day,"  she  announced. 

"  Well,  really,  Jones — two  tea-cakes  are  not 
much  for  a  hungry  man.  You  didn't  mean  to 
suggest " 

"  I  meant  that  there  boy,"  she  explained. 
"  Him  what 's  gone  in  next  door.  He  fair  gives 
me  the  'orrors,  with  his  fat,  white  face  and 
creepy  ways." 

"  I  'm  sure  he 's  a  very  worthy,  kind-hearted 
youth,"  I  tell  her,  recollecting  that  he  taught 
Honesty  the  keyboard  of  the  typewriter ;  "  and 
he  can't  help  being  fat  in  the  face." 

Jones  sniffs.  She  is  stoutish  herself.  "  It 's 
what  he  brings  with  him,  then,"  she  declares, 
obstinately.  "  Such  a  nasty  business,  too.  Low, 
I  calls  it." 

"  Wright  is  an  estate  agent  and  surveyor,"  I 
inform  Jones.  "  He  attends  to  the  letting  of 
houses,  and  is  a  sharp,  keen  man.     This  boy " 

"  He  does  the  dirty  work.  Serving  sum- 
monses, and  all  that.  He  puts  the  bailiffs  in, 
he  does." 

I  correct  her.  One  must  not  allow  ignorance 
to  go  unchecked. 

"  He  does  not  serve  summonses.  He  could  n't ; 
only  a  policeman  can  do  that." 

"  That  there  letter  had  nothing  good  in  it, 
I  'm  sure.  It  turned  me  quite  cold  like,  the  mere 
sight  of  it." 


76  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Did  any  books  come  for  me  this  morning?  " 
I  ask,  to  close  the  matter. 

"Yes,  sir.  A  parcel  on  your  desk.  And  a 
gentleman  called  about  some  Queer  Toes.  He 
left  his  card  and  said  he  'd  write." 

I  readily  identify  quartos,  and  nod.  A  dealer 
after  my  Shakespeare  again:  not  the  first  one. 
"  He  may  write,"  I  remarked,  placidly. 

"  Was  it  a  book,  sir? "  Jones  inquires, 
hovering. 

"  Books,"  I  state ;  "  the  old  books  on  the 
bottom  shelf." 

"  Them  skinny  little  brown  square  books?  I 
should  n't  think  they  was  worth  taking  away." 

"  They  are  worth  at  least  a  hundred  pounds 
apiece.  If  I  had  the  ninth  volume  they  might 
be  worth  twice  as  much."  I  never  can  resist 
speaking  largely  about  my  chiefest  treasure.  I 
am  moved  to  tell  Jones  how  it  came  to  me.  A 
very  dear  old  friend  of  mine  had  unearthed  the 
quartos  in  a  library  formed  by  a  book-loving 
ancestor.  They  had  lain  securely  hidden  away  for 
over  a  century ;  they  were  offered  to  me  as  a  gift. 
I  declined  them,  naturally,  although  with  a  very 
bad  pain  somewhere  inside  me  all  the  while.  A 
year  or  so  later,  when  the  good  fellow  had  passed 
to  his  rest,  I  found  the  quartos  left  to  me  at  a 
price  which,  while  satisfying  the  executors,  was 
absurdly  nominal. 


Honesty's  Garden  77 

I  dilate  on  their  beauties,  and  my  rare  fortune 
in  possessing  them.  I  am  moved  to  inform  her 
of  my  deep-seated  hope  that  one  day  I  may  find 
the  ninth  quarto.  "  And  then  you  '11  have  them 
all  bound  together  in  a  new  cover,  sir?  They  '11 
look  much  nicer  then,  won't  they — more  valuable 
like?  " 

I  very  nearly  faint  away.  Great  heavens,  re- 
bind  my  precious  quartos!  I  curl  up,  retire 
into  myself  like  a  snail  whose  horns  have  been 
suddenly  touched  with  a  red-hot  hairpin.  Jones 
luckily  doesn't  notice.  She  cheerfully  babbles 
on :  "  Jest  fancy  one  of  them  books  being  worth 
over  a  hundred  pounds.  Why,  you  could  sell 
them,  one  by  one,  if  you  was  hard  up.  I  expect 
some  people  would  be  glad  if  they  had  them 
Queer  Toes,  sir.  They  wouldn't  need  to  be 
frightened  each  time  they  heard  the  door  bell. 
Blue  letters  would  n't  worry  them — not  then." 

She  sighs  again  as  she  leaves  me,  being  a 
sympathetic,  if  sadly  mistaken  creature.  I  light 
my  pipe,  frowning  the  while  at  thoughts 
which  will  rise  up  from  this  hotch-potch  of 
conversation. 


CHAPTER  IX 

I  have  been  to  Edinburgh,  and  have  borne 
with  Gatherway.  He  has  planned  an  amaz- 
ingly cheap  issue  of  the  Classics,  and  had  de- 
cided on  everything — except  the  name  for  this 
series.  I  found  him  nearly  distracted  over  what 
was  positively  a  simple  matter.  I  declared  that 
since  the  issue  was  to  be  cheap,  the  name  should 
indicate  reasonableness  in  the  sweetest  degree; 
that  since  it  was  to  be  also  amazing,  miracles 
must  be  enticingly  and  solidly  suggested.  He 
fully  concurred. 

"  The  Little  Marvel  Library,"  said  I.  "  There 
you  are ! " 

Gatherway  had  a  million  objections  instantly ; 
but,  in  the  end,  allowed  that  there  was  the  germ 
of  an  idea  in  my  first  attempt  at  christening. 
He  wishes  me  to  be  editor,  take  part  shares,  and 
to  allow  my  dividends  to  stand  over  a  while.  He 
is  a  pleasant,  optimistic  fellow,  and  I  agreed  to 
everything.  Aunt  Sophie  would  dub  me  a  con- 
fiding idiot;  but  I  didn't  invest  a  very  large 

78 


Honesty's  Garden  79 

further  amount  in  Gatherways.  However,  I 
ought  not  to  have  risked  a  penny. 

I  had  a  shock  when  I  returned  to  Carbridge. 
Honesty  and  her  mother  were  on  the  up- 
platform  of  our  station,  surrounded  by  a  litter 
of  impedimenta.  I  crossed  the  line — being  a 
privileged  person — and  greeted  them  with  de- 
mands for  a  full  explanation. 

"  Change  is  good  for  everybody,"  said  Honesty, 
in  her  valiant  way ;  u  we  are  going  for  a  change." 

"  How  long  will  you  be  away?  "  I  asked,  feel- 
ing vaguely  disappointed. 

She  glanced  at  her  mother,  then  answered 
hesitatingly,  "  Oh,  not  long."  She  seemed  ill  at 
ease.  "  Not  very  long,  I  should  say.  How  have 
you  enjoyed  your  Scotch  trip,  Mr.  Swift?  You 
have  been  gone  nearly  a  week;  did  you  know 
that?  " 

I  was  telling  her  all  about  it  when  their  train 
was  signalled.  In  the  confusion  I  did  n't  dis- 
cover where  they  were  going.  I  had  a  sprig  of 
early  white  heather  in  my  coat,  plucked  from 
the  highlands  whilst  walking  with  Gatherway. 
I  gave  it  to  Honesty  when  they  were  safely  in 
their  seats,  poking  it  to  her  through  the  open 
carriage  window.     "  That 's  for  luck,"  I  said. 

She  took  it  with  quite  a  disturbing  gratitude. 
Mrs.  Dene  was  carrying  a  bunch  of  garden 
flowers,    and    Honesty    pulled    one    from   it — a 


80  Honesty's  Garden 

columbine.  "  That 's  for  remembrance,"  she 
said,  in  a  strange  little  voice. 

The  guard  whistled,  the  engine  acknowledged 
the  whistle  piercingly.  "  I  '11  look  after  the 
garden  for  you,"  I  promised  cheerfully,  as  my 
friends  were  carried  slowly  away  from  me. 
"  Mind  and  enjoy  yourselves." 

They  both  nodded;  but,  for  the  moment,  I 
thought  tears  stood  in  Mrs.  Dene's  brave  old  eyes. 
Misgivings  were  in  me  as  I  waved  and  called 
after  them,  "  Come  back  as  soon  as  you  can ! " 
The  window  was  hastily  drawn  up,  and  I  saw 
no  more.  Curiously  dashed,  I  turned  to  collect 
my  own  luggage,  then  walked  slowly  home- 
wards. Honesty's  garden  was  neat  as  a  new 
pin,  and  more  riotously  beautiful  than  ever. 
Uncomfortable  notions  left  me  as  I  entered  my 
own  castle,  with  Jones  and  Keedels  to  welcome 
me. 

So  pass  a  few  days,  and  I  arrive  at  the  Mon- 
day which  is  to  see  me  an  Important  Person. 
A  sub-editor — no  less.  I  attend  the  dingy  old 
office  of  the  Colosseum;  find  the  duties  interest- 
ing, and  more  numerous  than  I  had  imagined. 
I  am  hard  at  it,  drawing  together  the  threads 
of  the  muddle  Burnaby  has  left  behind.  John 
Carruthers  is  managing  the  concern,  with  the 
assistance  of  all  the  directors  in  turn.  The  re- 
sult seems  to  be  confusion  worse  confounded. 


Honesty's  Garden  81 

We  must  dismiss  those  directors.  So  long  as 
they  can  draw  their  fees  they  won't  much  mind ! 

Returning  home  from  my  first  day's  sub- 
editing, with  my  importance  in  no  wise  abated, 
I  encounter  Baillie.  He  walks  with  me  so  far 
as  Wright's  office.  He  has  little  to  say  beyond 
generally  criticising  the  weather  and  the  Govern- 
ment; indeed,  he  seems  quite  down  and  uninter- 
esting. Our  house  agent  seems  to  be  the  fashion 
in  Cartridge;  even  Baillie  pauses  at  his  door.  I 
cry,  jokingly,  "  House-hunting,  Jock?  Has  it 
come  to  this  at  last?  " 

"  It 's  not  house-hunting  I  will  be,  Swift ; 
no,  it  will  not  be  that." 

"  You  're  after  chairs  and  tables,  then.  Con- 
fess it — Wright  has  found  you  a  bargain." 

"  It  will  be  just  a  catalogue  I  'm  wanting, 
Swift,"  says  he,  diving  to  meet  the  Undertaker, 
who  now  appears  from  the  gloom  of  the  office. 

I  dawdle  a  while,  to  give  Baillie  a  chance  to 
catch  me  up;  but  he  is  so  slow  that  I  come  to 
the  end  of  our  road  alone.  As  I  near  Honesty's 
garden  I  find  myself  speculating,  for  the  hun- 
dredth time,  where  my  neighbours  may  have  gone 
— whether  they  are  having  a  good  time.  I  sin- 
cerely trust,  yes;  wishing  I  were  away  at  the 
seaside  also.  But  I  could  not  lock  up  my  house 
as  they  have  done;  although  we  are  all  utterly 
trustworthy  in  Carbridge,  I  should  never  be  able 


82  Honesty's  Garden 

to  sleep  at  night  for  dreaming  that  my  quartos, 
or  my  Lowestoft,  had  been  stolen. 

Somebody  is  in  Honesty's  garden.  I  stop  at 
the  wicket-gate  until  the  Somebody,  feeling  my 
inquisitive  regard,  starts  guiltily,  and  looks  up. 
It  is — Jones !  She  is  weeding ;  or  was  weeding. 
I  am  dumbfounded.  Jones  a  gardener,  and  I 
never  to  have  even  suspected  it.  She  is  flushed 
with  her  exertions,  and  remarks,  "  Oh,"  in  the 
true  Jonesian  manner.  She  is  not  precisely 
pleased,  I  gather.  "  I  did  n't  think  you  was 
coming  home  so  soon,"  she  observes,  with  dis- 
approval in  every  feature.  She  adds,  remember- 
ing our  respective  social  positions,  "  I  can  soon 
get  you  some  tea,  in  course." 

She  recovers  the  hoe  from  the  grass  plot — 
which  sadly  needs  mowing — and  prepares  to  go 
into  my  domain,  via  the  sweetbriar  hedge.  It 
is  now  my  turn  to  disapprove.  I  can't  have 
Jones  trampling  my  flower  beds,  and  I  see  she 
is  carelessly  dragging  the  hoe  after  her — plainly 
my  hoe. 

"  Mrs.  Dene  has  returned?  "  I  question,  with 
meaning.     "  There  is  a  gate,  Jones." 

She  is  surprised  at  my  firmness;  and,  after  a 
sidelong  glance,  gives  in.  She  decides  to  return 
in  an  orthodox  manner  to  her  kitchen.  "  I 
could  n't  abear  to  see  the  garding  getting  so 
untidy,"  she  excuses  herself,  when  she  is  nearer. 


Honesty's  Garden  83 

"  Them  weeds  do  grow  so  fast ;  it 's  heart- 
breaking." 

I  begin  to  open  the  gate  for  her,  and  then 
suddenly  catch  sight  of  something  which  as- 
tonishes me  so  much  that  I  involuntarily  shut 
the  gate  again  with  a  crash.  There  is  a  board 
up  between  the  trees  facing  into  the  road,  a 
house-agent's  board — Wright's  board.  "  Great 
Sale  of  Furniture  and  Effects." 

Jones's  hand  is  on  the  gate;  she  pulls  it  re- 
spectfully open.  As  in  a  dream  I  stand  aside, 
and  she  passes  out.  I  am  unaware  if  she  says 
anything;  I  am  only  conscious  of  terrible  over- 
whelming surprise.  In  the  distance  I  hear  foot- 
steps. Baillie?  I  can't  face  him;  I  can't  face 
anybody.  Almost  at  a  run  I  win  to  the  safety 
of  my  room,  stumbling  up  the  stairs  in  my  hurry. 

It 's  impossible !  It  can't  be.  From  my  win- 
dow I  can  see  the  back  of  that  hateful  board, 
and  know,  with  cold  certainty,  that  it  is  not 
impossible  at  all.  A  man  has  paused  to  read 
the  bill,  that  pitiful  legend.  Why  doesn't  he 
go  on?  It's  not  his  business.  It's  Honesty's 
business.  The  inventory  of  a  young  maid's 
heart  is  there;  the  sweet,  tender  record  of  her 
life,  day  by  day,  since  she  was  a  little  toddling 
mite.  There  are  all  her  poor  secrets,  sir;  ruth- 
lessly, monstrously  catalogued.  You  will  be 
able  to  come  close  to  them;  appraise  and  bid 


84  Honesty's  Garden 

for  them;  and,  perhaps,  cart  them  away.  They 
won't  be  the  same.  Their  magic  must  go  as 
soon  as  others  handle  them. 

Surely  you  know  every  word  on  that  board 
by  now?  I  turn  from  the  window  impatiently. 
The  gross  curiosity  of  people!  This  fellow  has 
been  joined  by  two  more;  they  are  discussing 
the  matter  openly.  I  shall  hear  their  comments 
if  I  don't  close  my  window.  I  do  this  hastily. 
On  my  wash-stand  is  a  tumbler  of  water,  and 
a  spray  of  columbine  has  withered  in  it.  Poor 
little  columbine,  withered  so  soon.  That 's  for 
remembrance.  Brave  little  big  heart,  why 
couldn't  you  tell  me?  Baillie,  too?  But  it 
shan't  be!  I  am  going  to  be  a  genie — an  old, 
cross,  perfectly  unbearable  bear;  an  astound- 
ingly  magical  magician.  I  will  make  everything 
all  right  again,  and  you  shall  both  be  scolded 
severely,  told  not  to  do  it  any  more — and  hand- 
somely forgiven. 

Had  you  so  soon  forgotten  I  was  a  person  of 
importance?  A  sub-editor ;  an  author  and  critic, 
duly  enshrined  in  "  Who  's  Who  " ;  a  sleeping 
partner  in  Gatherway's;  a  man  to  whom  money 
is  practically  a  mere  expression?  Did  you  im- 
agine for  a  moment  that  I  was  going  to  permit 
my  sacred  privacy  to  be  invaded;  to  allow  any 
Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry  to  perambulate  Honesty's 
garden? 


Honesty's  Garden  85 

Never. 

I  am  a  mass  of  nerves,  and  couldn't  tolerate 
those  worthy  young  gentlemen  under  any  cir- 
cumstances. They  would  whistle  comic  songs, 
keep  a  tame  gramophone,  and  generally  break 
down  my  health.  I  'm  selfish  about  my  health. 
Honesty's  garden  must  remain  intact,  and  in 
full  going  order.  The  Home  must  remain  un- 
touched— save  by  the  orthodox  duster! 


CHAPTER  X 

In  a  more  equable  frame  of  mind  I  take  tea; 
severely  nip  Jones's  every  attempt  at  con- 
versation; and,  having  braced  myself  up  to 
the  encounter,  sally  forth  to  interview  the 
Undertaker. 

He  is  bland,  sphinx-like,  and  intensely  atten- 
tive. "  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  posi- 
tively sold  the  place?  "  I  cry,  receiving  my  first 
check. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  state  that  Mr.  Wright  has 
been  successful  in  disposing  of  the  property," 
he  answers,  with  heavy  dignity. 

"  But,  hang  it !  it  has  n't  been  in  the  open 
market  five  minutes,"     I  argue,  with  some  heat. 

"  It  is  a  very  exceptional  property.  In  con- 
fidence, I  may  tell  you  that  we  had  a  standing 
offer  for  the  house.  So  long  ago  as — let  me 
see — "  He  opens  a  black  and  hearse-like  ledger, 
and  runs  a  business  finger  up  the  columns. 
"  Since  Whitsuntide  in  last  year,"  he  informs 
me,  in  hollow  tones.  "  A  client  accidentally 
saw  the  garden  then,  and  came  to  us  at  once. 

86 


Honesty's  Garden  87 

He  gave  us  figures  to  which  we  could  safely 
go — "  The  Undertaker  breathes  sympathy  with 
my  regret.  "  Quite  a  bargain — oh,  yes,  it  was 
certainly  a  bargain." 

"  Perhaps  your  client  won't  want  it  now — " 
He  shakes  his  head  gloomily.  "  The  money  has 
been  paid,  and  the  title-deeds  have  been  made 
over.  I  am  sorry  you  are  too  late,  Mr.  Swift. 
We  should  like  to  have  obliged  you." 

"  Mr.  Wright  is  not  in,  I  suppose?  " 

He  resents  this.  "  I  have  Mr.  Wright's  con- 
fidence," he  begins,  drawing  himself  up  to  his 
full  five  feet. 

"  Of  course.  I  merely  was  wondering — "  I 
pause,  hardly  seeing  what  I  can  do.  Yet  some- 
thing must  be  done,  and  quickly. 

"  We  shall  be  most  happy  to  let  your  house, 
sir,  if  you  contemplate  moving."  Business  is  in 
this  boy  to  the  tips  of  his  long,  sallow  fingers. 
"  We  could  arrange  a  sale  of  it  on  advantageous 
terms.  Carbridge  is  a  growing  residential  neigh- 
bourhood; we  have  plenty  of  inquiries  at  this 
minute  for  bijou  modern  cottages  such  as  yours." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  leaving  Carbridge.  I 
want  to  buy  the  house  next  to  mine,  to — to " 

"  Consolidate  the  property,  sir?  I  understand 
perfectly.  You  wished  to  make  a  small  estate 
of  it.  Quite  so."  He  glances  down  upon  his 
desk,  his  hands  collect  a  mass  of  small  litera- 


88  Honesty's  Garden 

ture.  "  Permit  me  to  offer  you  a  time-table, 
warranted  correct.  Our  last  list — some  very 
charming  little  places  you  '11  find  in  it.  And  a 
catalogue  of  the  sale." 

"  Why,  in  the  name  of  Fortune,  is  there  to  be 
a  sale?     Surely,  if  your  client  has  bought " 

"  Only  the  house,  sir.  The  furniture  was  a 
speculation  of  Mr.  Wright's.  Mrs.  Dene  wished 
to  entirely  dispose  of  everything."  Despite  the 
weight  of  his  sixteen  years,  I  suddenly  suspect 
that  my  Undertaker  is  keeping  down  his  feelings 
with  an  effort.  "  Great  loss  to  Carbridge — Mrs. 
Dene." 

His  weakish  eyes,  until  now  unwaveringly 
staring  into  mine,  blink  palpably.  He  pretends 
that  he  hears  a  call  from  the  inner  office,  and, 
crossing  to  the  baize  door,  opens  it,  glancing 
within. 

"  I  could  n't  endure  fresh  neighbours ;  and 
that  is  the  long  and  short  of  it,"  I  snap  out. 
"  Mr.  Wright  must  sell  me  Mrs.  Dene's  fur- 
niture as  it  stands,  and  get  me  the  house.  It 's 
to  be  done,  and  you  must  do  it.  You  can 
do  it." 

He  returns  with  alacrity.  "  As  regards  the 
furniture,  we  shall  be  most  happy " 

"  No,  you  won't !  The  furniture  goes  with 
the  house,  if  I  buy.  I  will  take  the  place,  lock, 
stock,  and  barrel,  at  a  reasonable  valuation,  or 


Honesty's  Garden  89 

I  '11  take  nothing.  Let  me  know  in  the  morning 
without  fail." 

The  Undertaker  makes  copious  notes  in  his 
diary.  "  To  what  extent  will  you  permit  us  to 
bid?  " 

"  I  will  buy  the  whole  at  your  price,"  I  state, 
thoroughly  determined  to  be  rash.  "  I  can't 
have  other  people  in  Honesty's — in  Miss  Dene's 
garden.  I  should  have  to  put  up  a  ten-foot 
fence " 

He  interrupts  me,  with  gentle  deprecation. 
"  You  surely  cannot  mean  that?  " 

"  I  do  mean  it.  Your  client  had  better  sell. 
Tell  him  it  will  be  a  ten-foot  fence,  tarred,  and 
spiked  with  nails.  I  shall  tear  up  the  sweet- 
briar — it 's  on  my  ground." 

The  Undertaker  smiles  faintly;  he  knows  the 
law.  I  should  n't  be  able  to  do  it.  "  Can't  you 
see  how  intolerable  it  would  be?"  I  urge;  "I 
don't  only  mean  the  fence — but  to  have  strangers 
practically  in  your  house?  I  am  convinced  that 
Mrs.  Dene  will  wish  to  come  back.  In  point  of 
fact,  I  know  she  will  come  back.  Well,  then, 
her  home  will  be  there,  all  ready  for  her.  T 
shall  be  prepared  to  make  it  over  to  Mrs.  Dene, 
complete  and  intact.  I  shall  keep  the  garden 
neat,  and  do  my  level  best." 

I  realise  that  I  am  talking  to  this  boy  as 
though  it  were  quite  in  his  power  to  arrange 


90  Honesty's  Garden 

things.  One  gets  in  a  way  of  being  friendly 
with  the  Carbridge  folk;  but  this  is  letting  my- 
self go  terribly.  I  shall  have  the  Undertaker 
slapping  me  on  the  back  and  calling  me  "  old 
man/'  in  a  minute  or  so.  Yes ;  actually  he 's 
feeling  for  his  cigarette  case;  he 's  going  to  offer 
me 

It  ?s  his  handkerchief  he  is  after.  His  eyes  are 
blinking  in  a  manner  eminently  suitable  to  an 
undertaker.  "  I  was  allowed  the  pleasure  of 
teaching  Miss  Dene  how  to  typewrite — "  He 
gulps,  chokes,  recovers  control  of  himself — "  a 
great  privilege;  a  very  real  pleasure.  .  .  .  We 
will  make  this  a  personal  matter,  sir,  if  you  will 
be  so  good  as  to  leave  it  all  in  our  hands." 

I  nod,  and  hastily  retire.  The  Undertaker 
follows  me  to  the  door,  respectfully  waits  until 
I  am  well  on  my  way  home  ere  closing  it.  When 
I  glance  back,  the  ridiculous  creature  is  bowing 
gravely  to  the  various  home-coming  Carbridgians 
just  in  by  the  train. 

I  go  home,  but  cannot  work  in  the  garden. 
That  detestable  board  attracts  everybody.  I 
shall  swear  more  than  is  good  for  my  peace  of 
mind  and  my  position  as  a  sub-editor. 

Sub-editors  are,  comparatively,  minions.  They 
may  not  swear,  save  with  bated  breath.  Any 
editor  will  tell  you  that. 

I  rake  out  the  Alfred  book,  and  have  a  grind 


Honesty's  Garden  91 

at  it.  Then  read  my  notes  for  the  new  work  I 
am  contemplating,  that  one  which  is  to  set  the 
Thames  afire. 

Poor  dear  old  river,  you  may  flow  on  quite 
serenely.  I  expect  you  will  be  able  to  remain 
as  unsilvery  as  ever,  notwithstanding  all  my 
bold  endeavours. 

Later  on  in  the  evening,  a  funereal  knock  is 
heard  at  the  front  door.  Jones,  with  hostility 
sounding  in  the  very  creak  of  her  shoes,  goes  to 
answer  the  summons.  How  dare  folk  come  at 
such  an  hour !  (It  is  about  ten  o'clock.)  I  hear 
her  sharp  tones  contrasting  with  an  apologetic 
mumble;  she  enters  my  study  to  announce: 
"  That  there  boy  from  the  estate  office — he  is  a 
nuisance — wants  to  see  you  sir,  very  particular. 
I  told  him  you  would  n't  like  being  disturbed." 
She  means  she  does  n't  like  being  disturbed. 

I  find  my  Undertaker  in  the  parlour.  He 
smiles  nervously.  He  is  no  longer  on  his  own 
ground.  "  I  am  really  most  sorry,  sir,"  he  be- 
gins, in  a  deep  bass.  I  indicate  a  seat.  "  No, 
I  thank  you.  If  you  will  permit,  I  will  state  my 
errand  very  briefly."  (The  absurd  dignity  of 
the  creature — he  might  be  about  to  break  ter- 
rible news!  The  smile  has  entirely  vanished, 
his  hand  is  waving  about  in  wide  gestures  of 
sympathy. )  "  I  was  fortunately  able  to  have  a 
conversation  with  Mr.  Wright  soon  after  your 


92  Honesty's  Garden 

honoured  visit.  He  regrets  extremely  that  he 
should  have  been  absent  at  the  moment  of  your 
call.  So  far  as  Messrs.  Wright  and  Co.  are 
concerned,  sir,  the  furniture  and  effects  of  the 
property  next  door  are  yours  at  the  barest 
margin  of  profit  to  ourselves." 

"  Yes,  but  the  house?  " 

"  The  purchaser  of  the  freehold  will  be  in 
Carbridge  to-morrow.  He  paid  Mrs.  Dene, 
through  us,  the  sum  of  twelve  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds — twelve  hundred  guineas.  There  is  con- 
siderable land  attaching  to  the  property.  Mr. 
Wright  wishes  to  know  the  exact  limit  you  will 
allow  us  to  touch." 

The  sum  is  rather  more  than  I  had  imagined. 
However,  I  am  resolute.  "  I  shall  leave  it  with 
you,"  I  say,  firmly.  "  Do  the  best  you  can  for 
me.  Settle  it  to-morrow;  and  telephone  to  me 
in  London,  if  necessary."  I  give  him  my  num- 
ber at  the  Colosseum.  "  Also,  I  should  like  to 
have  the  inventory  of  the  furniture.  I  want 
that  notice-board  to  be  removed,  and  to  have  the 
whole  affair  off  my  mind.  I  suppose  you  have 
Mrs.  Dene's  address?  " 

"  No,  sir.  Mrs.  Dene  has  not  favoured  us. 
We  understood  she  was  uncertain  of  her  move- 
ments for  the  immediate  present." 

"  But,  surely,  there  will  be  other  matters  to 
close?  " 


Honesty's  Garden  93 

"  Everything  was  disposed  of  before  Mrs.  Dene 
left  Carbridge.  The  money  was  paid  over.  If 
you  will  excuse  me,  sir,  I  will  not  trouble  you 
any  longer."  He  bows,  and  sidles  to  the  door. 
"  Good-evening,  sir ;  thank  you  very  much. 
Your  commands  shall  be  carried  out  quite  to 
the  best  of  our  ability." 

He  refuses  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  biscuit ;  bows 
again,  and  vanishes.  I  go  back  to  the  study  to 
spend  an  hour  or  so  figuring  it  all  out.  To- 
morrow I  will  call  at  the  bank  and  ascertain 
my  balance  there.  I  much  fear  that  it  is,  like 
myself,  rather  low.  A  depression  is  over  me, 
caused  by  too  much  Undertaker — and  that  night- 
mare of  "  Great  Sale  of  Furniture  and  Effects." 

That  shan't  be,  at  any  rate.  Despite  my  ulti- 
matum to  Messrs.  Wright  and  Co.,  I  shall  buy 
the  furniture,  no  matter  who  wins  Honesty's 
garden.  I  will  release  the  spirit  of  her  home, 
at  least,  from  profane  and  vulgar  regard. 

Memory  of  Jones's  remark  comes  to  me  and  I 
stoop  for  my  Shakespeare.  I  reverently  draw 
out  the  first  one  of  the  series.  Evidently  they 
were  all  bound  together  at  the  outset  by  the  ori- 
ginal collector  of  them.  The  volume  probably 
included  a  ninth  play,  which  has,  unfortunately 
for  me,  gone  astray.  Students  of  Shakespeare 
will  know  that  Capell  published  his  edition  of 
Comedies,  Histories,  and  Tragedies  in  folio  in 


94  Honesty's  Garden 

the  year  1768;  and,  no  doubt,  when  Edward 
Capell  came  across  my  now  eight  ninths  of  a 
book,  he  broke  it  up  to  suit  his  own  convenience, 
and  some  one,  thereupon,  lost  play  number  nine ! 
In  the  Capell  collection  at  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge, there  are  nine  quartos  only  that  attain 
these  measurements:  seven-and-a-half-inches  by 
five-and-a-half,  and  they  are  bound  up  in  two 
volumes.  In  the  Garrick  collection  there  are 
nine  plays,  all  of  this  identical  size. 

These  eight  little  quartos  of  mine,  whether 
broken  by  Capell  or  some  other  vandal,  belonged 
in  1780  to  Master  John  Dering,  who  I  can  easily 
picture  as  a  worthy  old  gentleman,  with  the  love 
of  books  deep  in  his  heart.  His  name,  in  small, 
irregular  gold  lettering,  appears  on  the  brown 
calf  cover  of  each  play ;  below  his  name,  the  date 
that  each  was  acquired.  In  three  years  he  had 
obtained  five  of  them,  then  comes  a  gap;  1779 
saw  the  next;  1780  witnessed  the  purchase  of 
two  more.  Now  for  the  last,  thinks  Master 
Dering — number  nine,  his  appetite  keenly 
whetted  by  the  acquisition  of  number  eight, 
which  is  that  jolly  business  invented  hastily  at 
the  command  of  good  Queen  Bess — who  had  the 
whimsy  to  see  Falstaff  in  love! 

"  A  most  pleasant  and  excellent  conceited 
comedy  of  Sir  Iohn  Falstaffe,  and  the  Merrie 
Wives  of  Windsor.     With  the  swaggering  vaine 


Honesty's  Garden  95 

of  ancient  Pistoll  and  Corporal  Nym.  Written 
by  W.  Shakespeare " 

And  originally  printed  for  Arthur  Johnson,  in 
the  yeare  1619. 

Here  are  Master  Dering's  first  finds: 

(1)  The  whole  contention  between  the  two 
Famous  Houses,  Lancaster  and  Yorke.  With 
the  Tragicall  ends  of  the  good  Duke  Humfrey, 
Richard  Duke  of  Yorke,  and  King  Henry  the 
Sixt.  Divided  into  two  parts:  and  newly  cor- 
rected and  enlarged,  Written  by  William  Shake- 
speare, Gent.     Printed  at  London  for  T.  P. 

This  is  the  book  I  have  in  my  hand;  next  to 
it  is: 

(2)  A  Midsommer  nights  Dreame.  As  it 
hath  beene  sundry  times  publickely  acted  by  the 
Right  Honourable,  the  Lord  Chamberlaine  his 
servants.  Written  by  William  Shakespeare. 
Printed  by  James  Roberts,  1600. 

(3)  The  first  part  Of  the  true  &  honourable 
history,  of  the  Life  of  Sir  John  Old-castle,  the 
good  Lord  Cobham 

Many  declare  this  play  isn't  Shakespeare  at 
all. 

(4)  The  excellent  History  of  the  Merchant  of 
Venice. 

(5)  The  Chronicle  History  of  Henry  the  fift, 
with  his  battell  fought  at  Agin-court  in  France. 

These  were  the  commencement  with   Master 


96  Honesty's  Garden 

Dering,  and  these  opened  his  eyes,  now  closed 
for  ever.  How  often  has  he  tenderly  handled 
my  wonderful  faintly  musty  quartos;  how  often 
will  others,  after  me,  handle  them?  Why — oh, 
why  did  n't  he  discover  that  ninth  play?  This 
I  make  to  be  the  "  Yorkshire  Tragedie.  Not  so 
New,  as  Lamentable  and  True."  The  Garrick 
collection  shows  this  in  the  same  unusual  size. 
Dering  ought  to  have  lived  long  enough  to  have 
recovered  it! 

You  may  as  well  know  the  other  two  I  have. 
The  page  can  be  skipped  by  readers  not  inter- 
ested in  Shakesperiana. 

(6)  M.  William  Shakespeare,  His  True  Chron- 
icle History  of  the  life  and  death  of  King  Lear, 
and  his  three  Daughters. 

(7)  The  late  and  much  admired  Play  called 
Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre. 

I  wonder  if  Master  Dering  sees  me  now, 
with  his  books?  Shall  I  be  granted  the  sorrow- 
ful joy  of  watching  those  others  who,  later,  will 
prize  these  priceless  volumes? 

It  is  plainly  time  for  me  to  go  to  bed.  At 
the  back  of  my  mind  there  lurks  a  spectre,  con- 
jured by  Jones.  If  Honesty  had  these  treasures 
of  mine,  she  might — under  certain  circum- 
stances, please — be  greatly  tempted  to  sell  them ! 


CHAPTER  XI 

It  is  arranged  that  I  shall  own  Honesty's 
garden  and  her  home,  and  all  the  appurtenances 
belonging  thereto.  The  previous  purchaser  has 
been  made  to  perceive  himself  as  being  too  pre- 
vious— the  result  of  sombre  and  funereal  machi- 
nations perpetrated  by  the  Undertaker. 

The  sum  total  of  the  purchase  money  is  ap- 
palling, and  scrutiny  of  my  bank-book  confounds 
me.     I  have  n't  enough ! 

But  the  excellent  conceited  plot  of  having 
Honesty  for  my  tenant  shall  be  hatched  success- 
fully, come  what  may.  I  have  gone  too  far,  in 
any  event.  I  could  never  raise  my  head  in  the 
presence  of  the  Undertaker  were  I  to  even  at- 
tempt to  back  out  of  it  now. 

I  must  do  something  heroic.  I  will  sell  a  few 
(a  very  few)  of  my  books. 

Therefore,  I  called  to-day  at  Joynson's,  in 
Chancery  Lane.  I  know  the  younger  Joynson; 
a  charming  fellow — but  very  busy.  He  and  his 
brother  conduct  the  great  sale  room,  where 
nearly  every  week  one  may  find  bargains — if 
other  people  aren't  looking!     Joynson,  junior, 

97 


98  Honesty's  Garden 

glanced  with  his  bright  eyes  adown  the  list 
presented  confidently  by  me. 

"  Rather  early  in  the  year  for  these.  I  '11 
catalogue  them,  if  you  press  it." 

"  I  rather  wanted  to " 

"  Make  room  for  others?  "  He  suggested  it 
tactfully.  "  Of  course.  I  '11  sprinkle  them  in 
the  list  for  week  after  next.  They  '11  fetch 
enough  to  pay  for  new  shelves — besides  giving 
immediate  room  for  any  fresh  purchases." 

I  was  aghast.  "  Only  enough  to  pay  for  new 
shelves?     Surely " 

"  Bad  time  to  sell  such  stuff,"  he  decided, 
bluntly.  "  Early  autumn  for  decadent  work. 
Fall  of  the  leaf,  earth  to  earth,  ashes  to — those 
who  have  a  taste  for  Dead  Sea  fruit !  Autumn  's 
the  boy  for  your  cast-outs,  Swift.  Pity  you 
have  n't  a  folio  Shakespeare — if  you  really  need 
ready  cash,  and  plenty  of  it.  I  sold  eight  plays 
bound  together  just  prior  to  the  issue  of  the 
first  folio,  only  this  afternoon.  For — how  much 
d'you  think?" 

"  Three  hundred?  "  I  suggested,  trying  to  ap- 
pear indifferent.  Strange,  was  it  not,  that  this 
imagined  temptation  of  Honesty's  should  so  soon 
be  dangled  before  me?  I  'm  not  going  to  be 
tempted,  however.     Dear  me,  no! 

"  It  was  an  edition  published  in  1620,  or 
thereabouts.     I  verily  believe  the  copy  we  had 


Honesty's  Garden  99 

to-day  was  part  of  a  '  remainder.'  Sounds 
impossible,  doesn't  it?  However,  there  it  was, 
eight  in  one — all  beautifully  fresh,  considering. 
It  was  being  sold  as  part  of  an  estate  just  clear 
of  Chancery.  A  Yankee  secured  it  for — guess 
again." 

"  I  have  n't  an  idea.  A  thousand  pounds?  " 
(I  hoped  I  had  overshot  it;  the  poison  was 
entering  my  system!) 

Joynson  unconsciously  fell  into  his  American 
patron's  nasal  accent.  "  Two  thousand  and 
eighty-six !  I  'm  just  standing  myself  a  long 
drink." 

I  suppose  I  gasped,  or  looked  incredulous — 
for  he  rattled  on,  quite  forgetting  his  "busyness  " 
in  the  excitement  of  telling  the  tale.  "  You  '11  see 
it  in  the  papers  to-morrow  morning.  We  all 
felt  a  bit  out  of  the  c  ornery.'  That 's  so.  Wait 
till  I  get  my  hat."  He  bustled  into  the  small, 
dark  office  at  the  side  of  the  sale  room;  and 
bustled  out  again  ere  I  could  recover. 

I  did  n't  enjoy  the  long  drink — although  Joyn- 
son paid.  Imprudently  I  told  Joynson  of  my 
quartos.  It  seems  they  are  eight  different  plays 
from  those  bought  by  the  American.  Joynson 
invited  himself  to  Carbridge:  would  have  come 
then  and  there — if  I  had  n't,  luckily  and  pluckily, 
invented  an  excuse  that  served  to  prevent  him. 

This  evening  has  been  spent  with  the  Alfred 


ioo  Honesty's  Garden 

book.  I  am  going  to  finish  it  off,  and  according 
to  Gatherway's  suggestions.  He  shall  pay  me 
royalties  on  account,  enough  to  enable  me  to 
clinch  my  purchase  of  Honesty's  garden. 

I  did  n't  work  well,  however.  My  mind 
wasn't — isn't — free.  Thank  goodness,  that 
board  has  gone  from  Honesty's — from  my  gar- 
den. Dear  gossips  of  Carbridge,  there  will  be 
no  Great  Sale! 

I  must  interview  Baillie,  and  extract  from 
him  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Dene's  present  where- 
abouts. This  young  fellow  has  kept  aloof  of 
late.  Since  Mahomet  won't  come  to  the  moun- 
tain, the  mountain  (myself)  shall  go  to  Jock 
Baillie! 


I  make  it  my  business  to  waylay  him.  He 
seems  disposed  to  be  taciturn.  To  bring  the 
matter  round  to  the  point  at  which  I  can  strike, 
I  remark,  casually,  "  You  will  not  need  that 
catalogue,  Jock.  Honesty's  garden  is  out  of  the 
market." 

"  I  've  heard,"  said  he,  briefly. 

"  I  don't  take  possession  for  a  while.  My 
plans  are  not  yet  matured."  I  eyed  him;  it 
really  is  very  good  of  me  to  think  of  selling 
my  Shakespeare 

I  mean — finishing  my  Alfred  book  and  closing 


Honesty's  Garden  xoi 

my  banking  account — just  to  put  Baillie  into 
the  house.  It 's  more  than  generous.  Aunt 
Sophie  would  call  it  midsummer  madness. 
Meanwhile,  the  young  gentleman  preserved  a 
stony  silence.  We  had  walked  from  the  station 
until  we  were  near  my  house — my  houses,  I 
should  say. 

"  I  have  the  keys,  of  course,"  I  prattled  on, 
cheerfully.  "Would  you  care  to  come  in?" 
The  inventory  has  not  yet  been  called  over  by 
the  Undertaker,  but  Messrs.  Wright  and  Co. 
trust  me  with  the  keys,  for  all  that.  Baillie 
paused  undecidedly.     "  Come  along,"  I  urged. 

"  I  'm  no  sure  I  should  na  be  ganging — "  be- 
gan Jock  Baillie,  Scotch  because  he  was  nervous 
with  me,  for  some  reason.  I  took  his  arm,  and 
we  entered  the  garden. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  feeling  rather  ill 
at  ease  myself.  I  required  the  moral  support 
of  Baillie's  presence — the  place  was  full  of 
ghosts.  Daylight  ghosts,  too — memories.  They  're 
the  worst  kind. 

Jones  has  endeavoured  to  cope  with  the  weeds ; 
not  with  overpowering  success.  "  I  must  have 
the  gardener  to  it,"  I  told  Jock,  in  a  confident 
voice — just  to  cheer  us  both.  "  It 's  surprising 
how  the  weeds  seem  to  know  when  a  garden  's 
at  their  mercy.     Scarcely  a  week  ago " 

"  Nine  days,"  Jock  corrected  me,  carefully. 


102  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Is  it  so  long?  "  (What  a  stupid  thing  to 
say!) 

"  You  don't  miss  your  neighbours,  Swift — it 's 
plain.  It  will  be  your  books  you  're  thinking 
about  most  of  the  time." 

"Not  all  the  time,"  I  protested.  "But, 
really,  how  quickly  the  days  fly!  Easily  ex- 
plained, all  these  weeds,  then.  Let  us  go  into 
the  house;  although  I  fear  it  will  be  sad  inside 
there  with  the  folk  away." 

At  the  door  he  disengaged  his  arm.  "  I  will 
not  be  going  into  the  hoose  with  you,  Swift," 
said  he,  abruptly. 

"  You  must,"  I  insisted.  "  I  can't  go  in 
alone." 

He  regarded  me  thoughtfully.  "It  is  your 
ain  hoose,"  he  argued. 

"  Yes,  but — do  come  along,  there 's  a  good  fel- 
low. It 's  so  uncanny  being  in  an  empty  place 
by  oneself." 

"  I  will  not  be  going  into  her  hoose.  It  is  a 
sacrilege." 

"  You  're  afraid !  "  I  cried,  trying  to  laugh  it 
off.  "  You  must  learn  to  conquer  that  feeling, 
Jock.  You  will  often  have  to  cross  this  thresh- 
old in  the  future." 

He  stared  back  into  my  own  steady  regard: 
he  wavered — yielded.  I  turned  the  key,  and 
gently  thrust  open  the  door;  then  stood  aside 


Honesty's  Garden  103 

for  him  to  enter.  "  I  will  follow  you,"  he  de- 
cided, mulishly. 

"  I  'm  fearful  you  '11  run  away,  so  soon  as  my 
back  is  turned.     Promise  now  that  you  won't !  " 

We  were  in  the  small,  stone-flagged  hall  next 
instant.  "  The  clock  has  stoppit,"  whispered 
Baillie,  who  had  taken  off  his  hat  as  though  he 
were  in  a  church. 

"  No  clock  will  go  on  for  ever,"  I  answered, 
pettishly. 

"  Eh,  but  it 's  lonesome,"  he  added.  "  It 's 
just  a  hoose  that 's  dead." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  A  house  that 's — sleep- 
ing. We'll  soon  rouse  it,  Jock.  Here  goes." 
I  found  the  key,  and  very  boldly  wound  up  the 
old  grandfather  clock.  His  slow,  comforting 
"  tick-tack "  recommenced.  I  hammered  the 
gong  next,  until  its  reverberations  filled  the 
whole  place.  "  Wake  up,  everybody !  "  I  called, 
heartily — "  Somebody  's  at  the  front  door  wait- 
ing to  be  asked  to  come  in." 

Baillie  gave  a  fearful  glance  behind.  "  There 
is  n't  a  soul,  living  or The  de'il  tak  us !  " 

There  is  a  soul,  to  give  him  ground  for  his 
exclamation.  But  it  is  not  the  "  de'il."  Merely 
the  next  best  thing;  my  Undertaker.  As  usual, 
he  was  bowing  with  ponderous  gravity. 

When  he  came  up  he  thus  excused  the  intru- 
sion,    "  I  ventured  to  follow  you,  sir.     I  thought 


104  Honesty's  Garden 

perhaps  you  would  wish  to  have  the  detailed  list 
which  Miss  Dene  herself  gave  us.  If  you  will 
kindly  check  each  item  we  should  prefer  it." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  I  am  quite  satisfied  that 
everything  is  in  order." 

"  As  a  matter  of  business,  sir,"  he  persisted. 
"  If  you  have  the  leisure  we  could  begin  this 
evening.  I  can  wait  upon  you  at  any  hour.  It 
would  be  more  satisfactory." 

"  Mr.  Baillie  and  I  will  examine  the  list 
together,"  I  announced. 

"  As  you  please,  sir."  The  Undertaker  bowed, 
disappointedly,  I  couldn't  help  thinking,  and, 
with  reluctant  steps,  passed  the  length  of 
Honesty's  garden.  An  impulse  made  -me  shout 
after  him,  "  The  garden  's  getting  into  a  shock- 
ing state,  isn't  it?  I  suppose  you  don't  know 
of  anybody  who  could  take  it  in  hand?  " 

He  came  back  almost  at  a  run.  "  I — indeed — 
if  I  might  make  so  bold — "  he  stuttered.  "  That 
is,  I  attend  entirely  to  my  mother's  garden " 

"You?     But  have  you  any  opportunity?" 

"  Eh,  but  I  'm  doing  gairdening,  Swift," 
sharply  interrupted  Baillie,  plainly  meaning  me 
to  refuse  the  Undertaker  forthwith.  "  If  it 's 
just  a  bit  mowing  needs  to  be  done,  and  a  bit 
weeding — I  '11  gie  ye  a  hand  o'  nights." 

"  If  I  might  be  permitted,  Mr.  Baillie," 
pleaded  the  other,  wringing  his  thin  fingers  to- 


Honesty's  Garden  105 

gether.  "  I  'm  sure  you  '11  forgive  me,  sir,  for 
presuming  to  offer  my  services — but  I  am  in 
Carbridge  all  day;  and  from  twelve  to  two  I 
have  really  nothing  to  think  about.  It  would 
be  such  a  pleasure  to  me  to  be  allowed  to  do 
the  verges.  I  understand  the  machine,  Mr. 
Baillie ;  it 's  a  little  tricky  at  times " 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  "  I  requested. 

"  I  have  presumed  to  try  it,  sir.  The  grass 
seemed  to  be  so  long  and  so  untidy.  Miss  Jones 
expressed  her  belief  that  you  would  not  alto- 
gether disapprove." 

"  It 's  very  kind  of  you,  I  'm  sure."  I  was 
somewhat  nonplussed.  These  two  heroes  were 
eyeing  each  other.  Odd  they  should  both  be  so 
keen.  Gardening  is  not  a  virtue,  as  a  rule,  very 
vigorous  in  the  modern  young  man.  I  turned 
to  Jock.  "  Don't  you  feel  it  would  be  kind  of 
our  friend  here  to  keep  the  lawn  trimmed  for 
us?" 

"And  the  verges,"  breathed  the  Undertaker, 
anxiously.  "  They  're  really  rather  back-break- 
ing, but  I  don't  mind." 

"  To  trim  the  lawn  and  the  verges,  Jock?  "  I 
coaxed.  "  They  are  back-breaking,  I  can  assure 
you.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  '  gardener's 
hinge '?     That  comes  through  trimming  verges." 

"  It  is  your  gairden,  Swift,  of  course,"  said 
Master  Jock,  coldly. 


106  Honesty's  Garden 

"  No,"  said  I  earnestly.  "  Not  mine,  Jock. 
Honesty's — and  always  will  be.  Let  us  divide 
duties.  I  will  do  the  rolling  of  the  paths,  it 's 
exercise  that  will  keep  me  fit.  You  shall  do  the 
weeding,  it  will  not  be  much  if  we  work  little 
and  often."  I  turned  to  the  Undertaker,  who 
was  positively  trembling  with  eagerness — "  You 
shall  do  the  verges,  and  Jones  shall  pick  the 
withered  flowers.  There,  that 's  settled.  Let  us 
all  go  in  to  my  house,  and  seal  the  compact."  I 
locked  the  door  of  the  house  quietly  behind  me, 
and  led  the  way  back  through  the  gap  in  the 
sweetbriar  hedge.  Jock,  with  affected  careless- 
ness, plucked  a  rosebud  from  the  garden,  while 
the  Undertaker,  pretending  to  tie  his  shoe-lace, 
stole  a  pansy.  They  thought  I  didn't  notice, 
either  the  one — or  the  other! 


CHAPTER  XII 

Joynson  has  come,  has  seen — has  conquered. 
That  is,  he  has  talked  me  into  permitting  him 
to  catalogue  my  quartos  in  the  next  sale  but  one. 
He  can't  get  them  in  before,  as  the  necessary 
arrangements  will  not  permit. 

He  pointed  out  to  me,  cogently: 

First :  That  I  could  n't  hope  to  buy  the. 
American's  quartos:  whereas  he  could  hope  to 
buy  mine. 

Second:  What  good  could  it  be  to  anybody 
to  possess  eight  of  the  plays?  They  didn't 
even  make  a  complete  volume,  let  alone  a 
collection.  It  was  like  owning  the  tail  of  a 
dog. 

Third:  Supposing  I  had  a  fire,  and  the 
quartos  were  consumed,  as  might  easily  hap- 
pen? Did  I  imagine  there  was  any  fire  insur- 
ance company  in  the  world  who  would  pay  me 
a  tithe  of  what  the  quartos  were  undoubtedly 
worth? 

Fourth :  The  market  was  absolutely  right  for 
Shakespeare  quartos;  the  chance  of  getting  a 
tip-top   price   might   never   occur   again — more- 

107 


108  Honesty's  Garden 

over,  the  American  had  n't  gone  back.  Joynson 
knew  where  he  was  staying. 

I  am  bound  to  confess  (within  myself)  that 
the  amount  I  am  likely  to  get,  as  royalties  on 
account,  for  the  Alfred  book  (even  if  I  finish 
revising  it)  won't  run  into  three  figures.  My 
editing  of  Gatherway's  series  of  classics,  the 
Little  Marvels,  progresses ;  and  the  first  two  are 
on  the  stocks.  But  here  again  I  shall  have  to 
wait  before  seeing  any  return. 

So  I  allow  Joynson  to  catalogue  my  quartos, 
although  with  a  heavy  heart. 

Meanwhile,  the  garden  next  door  is  receiving 
plenty  of  attention.  Never  has  the  lawn  been 
so  scrupulously  mown,  nor  the  verges  so  care- 
fully cut  and  edged.  There  is  not  a  weed  to  be 
seen  in  the  beds;  and  withered  flowers  are 
scarcely  given  a  moment's  grace.  The  paths  are 
superbly  rolled.     I  do  that. 

I  wonder  how  often  those  young  things,  the 
dramatis  personam  of  our  comedy,  write  to  each 
other?  and  what  they  find  new  to  say  each 
time  they  write?  Honesty  might  grant  a  mo- 
ment's leisure  in  which  to  let  me  know  where 
she  is 

They  don't  consider  old  fogies,  these  lovers. 
Why  should  they,  after  all?  Later  on, 
perhaps 

I  never  spy  those  silent  couples  in  the  lanes 


Honesty's  Garden  109 

about  Carbridge,  standing  so  close  to  each  other 
in  the  soft,  kindly  shadows,  so  full  of  dreams,  so 
utterly  happy — without  being  (scornfully  per- 
haps) a  little  jealous.  I  don't  seem  to  have 
ever  been  young  like  that — I  feel  I  have  been 
defrauded.  Folk  laugh  and  nod  meaningly 
when  they  chance  upon  lovers — forgetting  (fool- 
ish creatures!)  their  own  glorious  days.  I 
would  n't  want  to  forget :  I  can't  be  harsh,  even 
in  thought,  with  Phyllis — or  Corydon.  It  won't 
be  always  like  that,  my  poor  dears.  Summer 
nights  come  to  an  end  all  too  soon:  you  may 
discover,  when  it 's  irrevocable,  that  you  are  both 
very  human,  very  inconsistent,  both  possessing 
little  tempers  of  your  own.  In  broad  daylight 
Corydon  observes  that  Phyllis  has — freckles! 
She  sees  that  he  notices :  now  's  the  instant  to 
remember  your  tender  speeches,  your  sweet 
silences;  do  not  drop  hands,  but  rather  hold 
together  all  the  more. 

Corydon  finds  that  even  a  small  house  costs 
the  dickens  and  all  to  keep  up;  it's  all  work, 
work,  to  keep  pace  with  the  bills.  Phyllis  wants 
pretty  clothes — (one  can't  keep  pretty  without 
pretty  clothes!)  Dear  me,  what  worries  for 
both  of  you.  But  (between  ourselves)  isn't  it 
worth  the  worry?  You  're  together,  you  love 
each  other;  the  little  home  is  very  beautiful — 
while  you  love  each  other. 


no  Honesty's  Garden 

Shall  I,  one  of  these  days,  witness  Honesty 
beginning  to  suspect  that  romance  begins  and 
ends  in  summer?  Shall  I  know  Baillie  grown 
indifferent,  and  matter-of-fact?  If  I  imagined 
that  there  was  ever  the  least  chance  of  such  vile 
happenings  I  would  n't  sell  my  quartos. 

However,  I  don't  imagine  anything  so  im- 
possible. 

Aunt  Sophie,  Eva,  and  Miss  Harrison  finely 
surprise  us  one  evening.  We  are  all  hard  at  it, 
when  sudden  thunder  and  toot-tootlings  proclaim 
the  advent  of  the  motor-car. 

I  cease  rolling,  and  give  the  word :  "  Prepare 
to  receive  cavalry." 

Jones  scoots  through  the  sweetbriar  hedge;  I 
hastily  plunge  after  her.  The  weedy-looking 
youth,  now  in  full  motor  rig,  is  handing  the 
ladies  out.  The  Undertaker  pauses  in  his  mow- 
ing, and  critically  examines  the  verges.  Baillie 
stands  at  attention. 

"  My  dear  Mortimer !  " 

Aunt  Sophie  is  upon  me.  "  What  roads,  my 
dear  man !  Really  awful.  Goodness  knows  how 
many  people  we  have  killed;  I  don't  like  to 
think  about  it.  The  dust,  and  the  stupidity  of 
your  villagers !  Do  they  know  which  is  the  right 
side  of  the  road,  Mortimer;  are  they  totally 
deficient  in  common-sense?  " 

"  Well,  aunt — we  're  rather  quiet  down  here. 


Honesty's  Garden  in 

We  get  in  a  way  of  believing  that  the  earth  is 
partly  to  be  walked  upon,  after  all.  Our  carts 
certainly  do  tack  up  our  hills — they  always  have 
tacked,  you  know.  We  don't  loiter  on  the  per- 
manent way  in  front  of  expresses ;  and  we  there- 
fore expect  expresses  not  to  wildly  tear  up  and 
down  our  lanes." 

Miss  Harrison  smiles  indulgently,  showing  her 
nice  teeth.  "  We  don't  wildly  tear  up  and  down 
anything,  Mr.  Swift.  I  'm  sure  we  have  been 
quite  twenty-eight  minutes  travelling  here;  and 
it 's  no  more  than  twelve  miles." 

"  Besides,"  interrupts  Eva,  who  has  been  eye- 
ing Baillie  surreptitiously — "  Besides,  did  n't 
they  say  all  that  when  trains  were  first  in- 
vented? And  who  travels  on  a  coach  now,  I 
would  like  to  know?  If  you  aren't  screamingly 
glad  to  see  us,  Cousin  Mortimer,  after  we  have 
taken  all  the  trouble  to  come " 

"  I  am  most  delighted  to  see  you,"  I  hastily 
interpose.  "  Nice-looking  cousins  are  always 
welcome  at  Carbridge — especially  when  they 
bring  nice-looking  friends.  You  are  just  in 
time  for  early  supper;  Jones  has  rushed  in  to 
lay  extra  plates  for  you.  Can't  you  hear  her 
rattling  them?  "  I  beckon  Baillie,  who  really 
is  staring — "  Now  Jock,  come  here,  please.  I 
want  you  to  know  my  Aunt  Sophie."  He  comes 
with  alacrity  through  the  gap  in  the  sweetbriar 


ii2  Honesty's  Garden 

— "  Mrs.  Duveen,  Mr.  Baillie.  My  Cousin  Eva, 
a  very  naughty  girl.  Also  her  friend,  my  friend, 
and,  I  hope,  to  be  your  friend — Miss  Harrison. 
There  you  are !  " 

"  Quite  a  master  of  the  ceremonies,  Mortimer," 
says  Aunt  Sophie.  "  You  take  my  breath  away. 
Mr.  Baillie,  I  have  come  down  to  Carbridge  to- 
night to  ask  my  nephew  a  great  favour.  I  trust 
you  '11  persuade  him  to  grant  it." 

"  It 's  granted  before  you  ask,  aunt — so  long 
as  it  does  n't  involve  a  ride  in  the  motor." 

"  It 's  worse,"  says  Eva  cheerfully.  "  We  '11 
break  it  to  you  later  on."  She  glances  towards 
the  Undertaker,  who  is  still  raptly  absorbed  in 
contemplation  of  the  verges  next  door.  "  I  hope 
we  weren't  disturbing  you?" 

"  We  were  just  doing  a  bit  gairdening,"  Baillie 
tells  her  importantly.  "  It 's  exercise,  and  Mrs. 
Dene 's  away  the  whiles.     Swift 's  the  tidy  man." 

"  We  're  all  tidy  in  Carbridge,"  I  explain. 
"  It  is  our  unfortunate  habit.  Please  come  in, 
everybody."  I  nod  to  the  Undertaker  dismiss- 
ingly,  and  lead  the  way  indoors.  Aunt  Sophie 
takes  my  arm;  the  weedy-looking  youth  greets 
the  Undertaker — as  he  emerges,  rather  forlornly, 
from  Honesty's  garden — with  a  peremptory  re- 
quest for  the  loan  of  a  "  spanner." 

"  Now  Mortimer,  I  want  you  to  be  kind  to  an 
old  woman,"  begins  my  aunt.     "  Your  uncle  is 


Honesty's  Garden  113 

feeling  very  run  down  and  low.  I  am  sending 
him  off  next  week  to  Aix,  but  shall  never  get 
him  further  than  Newhaven  unless  I  can  count 
on  you." 

"  I  can't  go  to  Aix,"  I  argue.  "  I  have  n't  the 
leisure;  nor  the  means." 

"  You  need  n't  worry  about  the  latter,"  says 
my  aunt,  decidedly.  "Your  uncle  must  be  taken 
to  Aix,  properly  installed  there,  and  a  course  of 
baths  must  be  arranged  for  him.  He  is  as  ob- 
stinate, Mortimer,  as — most  men,  and  he  is 
nearly  doubled  up  with  rheumatism*  He  has 
been  dosing  himself  with  lithia — until  he  is 
sufficiently  depressed  to  commit  suicide  in  forty 
different  ways." 

"  I  know  a  splendid  cure  for  rheumatism,  aunt. 
It 's  quite  infallible,  an  elixir  vitce.  It 's  so 
simple  that  you  '11  laugh " 

"  Then  I  had  rather  not  hear  anything  about 
it."  Aunt  Sophie  is  firm.  "  I  want  to  be  quite 
serious,  Mortimer.  If  you  have  a  remedy  for 
rheumatism,  I  should  strongly  advise  you  to 
patent  it;  give  it  a  catchpenny  name,  and  then 
advertise  in  all  the  Sunday  newspapers.  You  '11 
make  a  fortune.  But,  first,  I  desire  you  to  try 
to  please  an  old  woman — by  taking  your  uncle 
to  the  baths  at  Aix." 

We  have  all  arrived  in  the  parlour  by  this. 
Through  the  window  I  can  dimly  perceive  the 

8 


ii4  Honesty's  Garden 

legs  of  the  weedy  youth  and  the  arms  of  the 
Undertaker  amicably  waving  about  from  under 
the  works  of  the  motor.  Those  two  are  happy 
for  the  immediate  present.  I  seat  my  guests 
round  the  table;  Aunt  Sophie  takes  the  end  and 
I  the  top.  Eva  and  Baillie  arrange  themselves 
side  by  side,  while  Miss  Harrison  takes  my  right 
hand.  The  situation  is  temporarily  saved:  but 
as  soon  as  all  are  served  with  cold  sirloin,  salad, 
or  chutnee  (according  to  taste),  aunt  renews 
the  attack. 

"  This  is  the  notion,  Mortimer,  and  Mr. 
Baillie,  please  say  he  must  accept.  We  all 
meet  next  Sunday  morning  at  9.30  at  Victoria, 
and  take  the  boat-train  to  Newhaven.  Then 
on  to  Dieppe,  by  half-past  three.  At  Dieppe 
I,  and  Eva,  and  Kitty  Harrison  are  going  to 
spend  a  fortnight — not  a  day  more.  Just 
quietly,  Mortimer,  at  some  little  hotel  off  the 
front." 

"  We  thought  of  the  Hotel  de  Paris,"  says 
Eva.     "  Or  the  Chariot  d'  Or," 

"  I  generally  put  up  at  the  Hotel  du  Rhin"  I 
remark,  imprudently.  There  is  a  chorus,  "  How 
jolly !  Then  you  know  Dieppe,  Mortimer?  That  's 
splendid ;  you  '11  be  able  to  see  us  all  fixed  up 
before  going  on  to  Aix." 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  say  I,  with  determination, 
"  you  must  please  not  count  on  me.     I  have  just 


Honesty's  Garden  115 

commenced  my  new  duties  as  sub-editor  of  the 
Colosseum." 

"  Surely  you  could  get  a  few  days'  leave?  " 
Aunt  Sophie  urges.  "  A  week-end,  Mortimer — 
say  Sunday  until  the  following  Monday  week?  " 
A  wTeek-end !  "  Of  course,  I  should  love  to  go 
with  you,"  I  continue.  "  Dieppe  is  a  delightful 
little  place.  Those  who  go  through  it,  en  route  to 
Paris,  only  see  the  quay,  and  so  get  a  totally 
wrong  idea  of  a  charming  little  town.  The 
Casino  is  most  amusing — you  must  join  directly 
you  arrive,  taking  a  family  ticket.  That 's  much 
cheaper." 

"  Oh,  won't  it  be  splendid,  Kit? "  breathes 
Eva.  "  We  shall  want  you  to  stay  all  the  time, 
Cousin  Mortimer." 

"  You  '11  give  us  a  look-up  on  your  return,  you 
know,"  adds  Aunt  Sophie.  "  Please  pass  me  the 
claret.     What  a  sweet  jug,  Mortimer." 

"  Old  Bohemian,"  I  manage  to  throw  in.  She 
rattles  on :  "  Yes,  that 's  how  we  have  planned 
it.  Your  uncle  and  you  to  go  to  Aix,  on  the 
second  or  third  day.  You  install  him  comfort- 
ably, and  stay  as  long  as  you  will.  Then  back 
to  Dieppe,  and  take  your  reward  with  us.  Eva 
and  I  will  promise  that  you  shall  do  just  what 
you  like,  and — understand,  Mortimer — you  are 
to  be  your  uncle's  guest.  He  simply  won't  go 
under  any  other  arrangement." 


u6  Honesty's  Garden 

They  very  nearly  talk  me  into  it,  between 
them.  Eventually  I  compromise  by  agreeing  to 
take  them  all  to  Dieppe,  where,  having  found 
Aunt  Sophie  and  the  girls  a  comfortable  pension, 
I  will  start  my  worthy  uncle  off  to  Aix.  I  shall 
then  promptly  return  to  London.  It  will  mean 
being  away  from  Sunday  next  to  the  Wednesday 
or  Thursday. 

"  So  you  soon  will  be  back  to  your  garden- 
ing," says  Eva,  maliciously.  "  Mrs.  Dene  may 
be  home  by  then.  I  hope  you  '11  send  her  in  a 
big  bill,  all  of  you — for  keeping  her  garden  so 
tidy." 

Baillie,  not  catching  my  warning  glance,  re- 
marks innocently :  "  It  will  be  Swift's  own 
gairden,  ye  ken.  It  's  the  bill  /  will  be  sending 
to  friend  Mortimer  here  presently — for  weeding 
and  hoeing  and  the  like." 

"  I  meant  Mrs.  Dene's  garden  more  parti- 
cularly," Eva  tells  him,  with  a  sly  twinkle  for 
both  of  us. 

"  'T  is  all  one — "  Baillie  answers,  perplexed 
at  my  frowns,  of  which  he  is  at  last  aware.  I 
am  conscious  that  Eva  and  Aunt  Sophie  are 
regarding  me  very  curiously.  "  Mrs.  Dene  has 
left  Carbridge,"  I  announce,  taking  a  bold 
plunge.  "  I  have  bought  her  house  and  garden 
rather  than  endure  fresh  neighbours.  That  was 
why  we  were  all  so  busy  when  you  came  down." 


Honesty's  Garden  117 

Aunt  Sophie  opens  her  mouth;  shuts  it  on  a 
single  word,  with  an  obvious  effort.     "  Oh?  " 

"Oh?"  echoes  Eva. 

Miss  Harrison  merely  smiles,  irritatingly. 
Whenever  people  have  nice  teeth  they  always 
smile  at  every  opportunity. 

"  Yes,"  say  I,  closing  the  subject,  "  that  was 
why  we  were  all  so  busy.  Let  me  give  you  some 
pie,  aunt — I  can  recommend  it  strongly.  Cream, 
too.  Direct  from  Devon.  I  have  it  from  Lyn- 
mouth  once  a  week,  all  the  year  round." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

I  can  scarcely  realise  what  has  happened 
to-day.  A  strange  mixture  of  emotions  is 
chaotically  rioting  through  me. 

An  awful  reflection  recurs  perpetually.  But 
let  me  begin  at  the  beginning;  and,  while  writing 
it  all  down,  reason  with  myself  that  everything 
has  chanced  for  the  best. 

Since  Aunt  Sophie  had  instructed  me  that 
Uncle  Duveen  had  been  obliged  to  postpone  the 
Aix-les-Bains  trip,  I  have  enjoyed  peace — of  a 
sort.  Baillie  and  the  Undertaker  and  Jones 
have  worked  with  tolerable  amiability  with  me 
in  the  gardens,  on  fine  nights.  Jock,  however, 
seemed  childishly  upset  on  that  evening  when  Eva 
and  Miss  Harrison  motored  over  to  Carbridge 
to  bring  me  aunt's  letter,  and  properly  explain 
why  the  Dieppe  holiday  was  not  to  be.  I  asked 
them  if  they  would  care  to  go  over  my  new 
property. 

Jock  came,  too — after  again  saying  he 
would  n't.  It  was  when  we  were  admiring 
Honesty's  own  little  room  that  I  first  began  to 

118 


Honesty's  Garden  119 

notice  his  agitation.  It  is  a  small  nest — as 
sweet  as  a  young  maid's  heart:  the  casement 
window  is  draped  with  pink,  dainty  curtains; 
the  wall-paper  has  pink  roses  garlanded  across 
a  pale-blue  ground.  I  had  put  some  silver 
brushes  and  things  upon  the  toilet  table,  and 
Jones  had  cut  blush  roses  for  a  big  bowl  stand- 
ing on  a  little  table. 

Eva  and  Miss  Kitty  had  no  false  sentiment. 
My  youthful  cousin  appeared  to  find  everything 
most  interesting.  She  and  the  other  girl — the 
one  with  the  nice  teeth — stayed  a  little  while 
afterwards  with  us;  while  Baillie  gradually  got 
better — and  less  Scotch  as  the  time  wore  on.  He 
eventually  motored  back  with  the  two  girls  and 
the  weedy  gardener's  son.  I  think,  by  the  way, 
that  Jones  is  rather  interested  in  that  youth. 

Baillie  is  very  close  as  regards  Honesty.  Be- 
yond his  perturbation,  already  mentioned,  I  have 
learned  no  whit  as  to  her  present  whereabouts. 
I  shall  have  to  ask  right  out,  I  suppose,  when 
the  hour  comes  for  me  to  take  Jock  into  my 
grand  scheme. 

The  Undertaker,  regretfully,  has  not  been  able 
to  quite  complete  my  purchase  of  Mrs.  Dene's 
house  and  garden.  He  speaks  (with  technical 
elaborations  which  I  don't  positively  follow)  of 
mortgages  and  title  deeds,  and  what  not.  I  am 
to  see  him  presently 


120  Honesty's  Garden 

Which  brings  me  back  once  more  to  to-day, 
with  its  exhausting  catastrophe. 

I  can't  make  myself  realise  that  my  cherished 
quartos  are  really  sold — it  must  surely  be  some 
hideous  dream  from  which,  with  huge  relief,  I 
shall  suddenly  awake.  When  I  arrived  at  the 
sale-rooms  this  afternoon,  it  was  with  the  fixed 
intention  not  to  go  in,  but  just  to  glance,  as  it 
were,  at  the  outside.  Alas,  for  the  frailty  of  us 
poor  mortals;  good  intentions  always  prelude 
fatalities.     At  least,  they  do  with  me. 

There  was  quite  a  crowd  in  the  lobby,  with 
a  real  policeman  keeping  order.  I  paused  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps  and  said  to  him,  "  What 's  the 
matter,  officer?  " 

"  They  're  selling  some  very  rummy  old  books, 
sir,"  he  informed  me,  adding  with  fine  pity,  "  and 
half  London  seems  to  have  gone  cracked  over 
'em." 

"What  are  they?"  I  pursued,  with  a  guilty 
joy  surging  in  my  breast. 

"  I  don't  rightly  know,  sir.  Won't  you  step 
inside?  " 

I  was  going  to  say  "  No,  thank  you,"  when 
somehow  I  got  pushed  up  the  steps.  One 
couldn't  stay  in  the  lobby;  I  had  to  go  in  or 
out. 

So  I  went  in. 

Such  a  buzzing  and  excitement !    I  spied  Joyn- 


Honesty's  Garden  121 

son  at  the  high  rostrum,  gazing  with  admirable 
affectation  of  nonchalance  over  the  heads  of  the 
crowd  of  book  buyers,  bargain-hunters,  dealers, 
and  curiosity  mongers — at  the  uppermost  shelf 
of  the  remotest  bookcase.  A  lot  had  just  been 
sold;  I  fought  my  way  to  the  long  table  below 
Joynson's  perch,  and  found  half  a  seat  with  a 
rather  fusty  old  dealer. 

Another  lot  was  put  up.  Joynson's  business 
tones  chanted  in  a  minor  key;  the  bidding  was 
impatient,  brief.     Yet  another  lot  was  cried. 

I  peeped  at  the  catalogue,  grimed  and  already 
dog-eared,  which  the  old  dealer  had  spread  be- 
fore him.  My  glance,  shooting  sideways,  lighted 
upon  Lot  206. 

My  quartos. 

I  can  hear  now  Joynson's  voice,  still  in  the 
minor  key,  still  affecting  indifference.  "Lot 
206.  Eight  very  finely  preserved  quarto  vol- 
umes of  Shakespeare's  plays.  Published  in  the 
years  1600-1619.  Collected  by  John  Dering, 
Esquire,  and  possibly  originally  bound  together. 
Each  half-bound  in  brown  calf.  The  pages  have 
not  been  cut  down,  but  the  leaves  of  two  volumes 
are  slightly  spotted.     Imprinted  as  follows: 

"  (1)  The  whole  contention  between  the  two 
Famous  Houses,  Lancaster  and  Yorke.  With 
the  tragicall  ende  of  the  good  Duke  Humfrey, 
Richard  Duke  of  Yorke  and  King  Henry  the 


122  Honesty's  Garden 

Sixt.  Divided  into  two  parts,  and  Newly 
Corrected  and  Enlarged.  Written  by  William 
Shakespeare,  gent.  Printed  at  London,  for  T.P. 
No  date. 

"  (2)  A  Midsommer  Night's  dreame.  As  it 
hath  beene  sundry  times  publikely  acted,  by  the 
Right  Honourable  the  Lord  Chamberlaine  his 
servants.  Written  by  William  Shakespeare. 
Printed  by  James  Roberts,  1600. 

"  (3)  Mr.  William  Shakespeare,  His  True 
Chronicle  History  of  the  Life  and  death  of  King 
Lear,  and  his  three  daughters.  With  the  un- 
fortunate life  of  Edgar,  sonne  and  heire  to  the 
Earle  of  Gloucester,  and  his  sullen  and  assumed 
humour  of  Tom  o'  Bedlam.  As  it  was  plaid 
before  the  Kings  Majesty  at  White  Hall,  uppon 
St.  Stephen's  night,  in  Christmas  Holidaies. 
By  his  Majesties  Servants,  playing  usually  at 
the  Globe  on  the  Banck-side.  Printed  for 
Nathaniel  Butler,  1608." 

But  why  go  on?  Don't  I  know  those  dear 
long-winded  old  titles  by  heart!  Haven't  I 
pored  over  them,  read  them  aloud  to  myself, 
hugged  them  (figuratively)  to  my  breast  on  a 
thousand  happy  occasions!  And  they  are  gone, 
gone 

I  could  weep  were  it  not  so  utterly  childish. 
And  yet 

The  sale  of  these  books,  beloved  as  they  are, 


Honesty's  Garden  123 

means  the  lifelong  happiness  of  two  very  inter- 
esting young  people.  Now  I  can  buy  Honesty's 
garden  comfortably,  easily — and  give  it  back  to 
her  complete  and  unencumbered.  For  she  shan't 
have  Baillie  with  it  unless  she  particularly 
wants  him. 

Of  course  she  will. 

Joynson's  voice,  still  droning :  "  The  late  and 
much  admired  Play  called  Pericles,  Prince  of 
Tyre.  With  the  true  relation  of  the  whole  his- 
tory, adventures,  and  fortunes  of  the  said 
Prince.  Written  by  W.  Shakespeare.  Printed 
for  T.  P.  1619.  There  is  one  volume  missing, 
gentlemen,  of  the  series,  if  compared  with  the 
other  known  sets.  Probably  the  missing  vol- 
ume is  the  '  Yorkshire  Tragedie,  not  so  new  as 
lamentable  and  true.'  That  was  also  printed  by 
T.  Pavier.  Will  some  gentleman  kindly  start 
the  bidding.  Five  hundred  pounds?  Thank 
you." 

At  once  there  was  a  confusion,  a  babel.  Six 
hundred,  seven  hundred,  eight  hundred,  eight- 
fifty.  Pause.  Nine  hundred,  nine-fifty,  nine 
seventy-five.  Pause.  Twelve  hundred,  at  a 
jump. 

Joynson  acknowledged  the  bid  with  a  pale 
smile.     He     waved     his     hammer     inquiringly. 

Twelve-fifty,  seventy-five,  thirteen-hundred 

Fifteen  hundred,  in  nasal  tones. 


124  Honesty's  Garden 

The  old  dealer  beside  me  nodded.  "  That  's 
the  American,''  he  told  me,  knowingly.  "  He 
bought  a  set  a  week  or  so  back.  Most  in  this 
lot  are  different  to  those  he  holds.  He  means 
business." 

"  Please  don't  talk,"  requested  some  one  be- 
hind us.     "  I  want  to  follow  the  bidding." 

"  Now,  gentlemen " — cried  Joynson,  just  a 
shade  flurried.  "  Fifteen  hundred  has  been 
offered.     Any  advance?  " 

My  old  dealer  glanced  up.  "Sixteen,"  he 
mumbled. 

This  annoyed  me,  for  some  absurd  reason. 
Those  grimy  hands  on  my  quartos?  Never. 
"  Sixteen-fifty." 

I  did  n't  realise  that  it  was  I  who  had  said  it. 
I  felt  myself  go  scarlet.  Such  a  breach  of  eti- 
quette! Trying  to  run  up  the  bidding,  folks 
would  say.  I  was  n't  sure  that  what  I  had  done 
was  not  criminal.  "  If  you  want  it,  sir — "  began 
the  old  dealer  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  Silence,  please.  Sixteen-fifty,  seventy-five, 
seventeen  hundred.  Thank  you,  sir."  Joynson 
threatened  with  his  hammer. 

"  Eighteen  hundred,"  muttered  the  old  man 
next  me.  "  I  'm  bidding  for  you,  sir,  one  per 
cent.,"  he  added  in  a  whisper.     "That  all  right?  " 

Ere  I  could  frame  a  reply  the  nasal  voice  rang 
out — "Two  thousand  pounds." 


Honesty's  Garden  125 

Heavy  pause.  One  might  have  heard  a  pin's 
head  drop — let  alone  the  proverbial  pin.  Then 
some  one  coughed.  Joynson,  with  elaborate 
politeness,  turned  in  that  direction.  "  Did  you 
say  two  thousand  and  twenty-five?"  he  re- 
quested. 

"  And  thirty." 

It  was  the  old  dealer;  and  I  ardently  hoped 
he  would  get  them  and  pass  them  all  back  to  me. 
When  I  saw  those  dear  books  lying  there  on  the 
table,  so  helpless,  so  forlorn,  with  the  ghost  of 
old  John  Dering  near  by,  anxiously  trembling 
— beseeching  the  right  buyer  to  buy — my  eyes 
grew  misty. 

"  Thirty-five— forty— forty-five."  The  bidding 
was  careful,  and  came  from  different  parts  of 
the  room.  What  would  Joynson  think  if  I 
bought  them  in?     What  would  it  cost  me? 

My  brain  refused  to  work  it  out.  I  only  knew 
I  wanted  them :  could  n't  let  them  go.  My  heart 
was  being  torn  out  of  my  body.  I  longed  to 
seize  them  up  in  one  swift  armful,  and  rush 
forth.    They  were  mine,  mine 

Afar  off,  a  scent  of  roses — Honesty's  garden. 
To  make  two  people  happy.  To  do  one  really 
useful  thing  in  one's  life.  Surely  this  was  a 
chance  for  me  not  to  be  selfish  for  ever? 

Not  the  way  to  get  rich,  my  boy.  Head  be- 
fore heart,  if  you  please.     If  you  sell  these  books 


126  Honesty's  Garden 

you  mustn't  give  away  the  result.  Better  buy 
them  in  than  do  that — though  it  would  be  a 
stupid  thing  to  do.  Hang  sentiment,  useless 
lumber.     Let  it  go. 

"  Two  thousand,  one  hundred !  " 

That  brought  me  back  to  earth.  The  Ameri- 
can meant  it :  no  good  to  fight.  Only  three  in  it 
now.  I  bade  my  old  man  be  silent — avoided  his 
watery  glance.  I  tried  to  distinguish  who  were 
those  left  in;  hoping  to  be  able  to  read  the  man 
and  find  comfort  in  thinking  he  had  a  nice 
face. 

"  And  two  hundred."  It  was  the  last  bid  of 
one  of  the  best-known  book  dealers  in  town. 
He  was  calm  and  confident:  but  so  was  the 
American. 

"  Two  thousand  and  two  hundred,  gentle- 
men? " 

The  Yankee  had  a  nice  face,  if  a  somewhat 
decided  voice.  He  added  fifty  pounds  imme- 
diately. A  small  thin  man  on  the  other  side 
of  the  table  increased  it  to  seventy-five.  I  did  n't 
take  to  the  small  thin  man,  any  more  than  did 
the  ghost  of  old  John  Dering.  I  could  see  him 
plainly  whispering  to  the  American  to  end  the 
matter.     His  intangible  mind  was  made  up. 

"  Two  thousand  and  five  hundred  pounds !  " 

The  pause  which  followed  this  stupendous  bid 
was  almost  painful.     Joynson  looked  positively 


Honesty's  Garden  127 

green.  His  hammer  wavered:  lifted  itself: 
wavered  again. 

"  Gone,"  said  he,  in  a  tiny  little  croak.  The 
hammer  fell  with  a  nervous  rap. 

I  turned  to  the  American  even  as  the  hubbub 
broke  out.  He  was  close  behind  me,  promis- 
ing the  ghost  all  sorts  of  things.  He  elbowed  his 
way  towards  the  rostrum;  and,  as  he  passed,  I 
laid  my  hand  on  his  sleeve.  "  I  heartily  con- 
gratulate you,  sir,"  I  said;  and  I  meant  it — for 
the  moment! 

He  looked  surprised.     "  Thank  you." 

He  had  a  pleasant  way  of  saying  it :  the  ghost 
and  I  shook  hands. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

News  brought  me  by  the  Undertaker  has 
rather  upset  my  peace  of  mind.  Until  now  I 
have  been  fondly  under  the  impression  that, 
whatever  had  been  Mrs.  Dene's  difficulties  mone- 
tarily, the  sale  of  her  property  must  have  dis- 
pelled them — for  a  while  at  least.  But  when 
all  the  title  deeds  were  before  me,  and  the  Under- 
taker, Mr.  Wright,  and  I  concluded  the  business 
— with  deep  misgiving  I  perceived  there  had  been 
heavy  mortgages  on  the  house  and  grounds. 

And  I  knew  that  Wright  hadn't  given  much 
for  the  furniture. 

Since,  I  have  been  worried  about  them,  those 
two  bold  people  who  have  disappeared  from  my 
ken — to  adventure,  no  doubt,  some  impossible 
craft  on  stormy  waters.  I  know  the  way  women 
think,  bless  them — even  if  I  am  an  old  bachelor. 

You  only  have  to  buy  a  sweet-stuff  shop,  or  a 
stationer's  (with  a  typewriter),  or  start  a  select 
boarding-house  at  the  seaside.  Then — it 's 
merely  a  question  of  how  long  your  poor  little 
bit  of  money  will  last ! 
128 


Honesty's  Garden  129 

Baillie,  however,  is  in  correspondence  with 
them — so  it 's  all  right. 

The  mystery  of  his  story  has  been  solved,  in 
a  somewhat  exasperating  manner.  The  editor 
of  the  Balmoral  writes  me  indignantly,  enclosing 
a  letter  from  one  of  his  readers.  It  seems  that 
the  Balmoral,  like  most  enterprising  journals 
nowadays,  offers  prizes.  One  of  them  is  a  re- 
ward to  any  one  detecting  unoriginal  matter  in 
its  pages,  and  some  astounding  clever  fellow  has 
tracked  Baillie's  effort  to  its  source. 

In  short,  the  story  has  been  printed  before, 
and  the  editor  is  righteously  wrathful.  So,  too, 
am  I.  The  story  came  out  first  ten  years 
ago,  we  are  told,  in  a  missionary  paper  cir- 
culating in  China.  Evidently  the  Balmoral  is 
widely  read! 

The  editor  had  requested  Master  Know- All  to 
produce  the  missionary  paper  before  taking  the 
reward.  The  wretch  did  so.  It  has  been  pro- 
duced to  me.  I  recollect  that  I  said  (to  Honesty, 
was  it  not?)  that  I  thought  I  had  once  read 
something  like  the  story.     I  was  right,  I  had. 

The  story  is  n't  Baillie's.  It  is  my  own,  writ- 
ten and  forgotten  long  ago — save  that,  as  Steven- 
son once  said — my  memory  remembered  for  me. 
This  practical  joke  makes  me  figure  as  an  idiot 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Balmoral  folk.  I  don't  believe 
I  quite  deserved  it  at  Honesty's  hands. 


130  Honesty's  Garden 

I  have  returned  the  five  pounds,  plus  the 
"golden  guinea"  reward.  (Why  do  editors 
always  think  in  "  golden  "  guineas  or  "  crisp  " 
five-pound  notes?)  I  have  also  apologised — ex- 
plaining that  the  story  is  original,  even  if  not 
new — since  the  anonymous  contributor  to  the 
missionary  magazine  and  myself  are  one  and  the 
same  person. 

Why  did  Honesty  do  this  thing — and  how? 

Jones  did  certainly  have  a  comprehensive, 
exhaustive,  and  rather  late  spring-cleaning  this 
year.  Did  she  come  across  stray  numbers  of 
the  Reaper  in  this  process,  and  promptly  use 
them  for  the  daily  bonfire?  Did  a  copy  incon- 
tinently blow  over  the  hedge  into  Honesty's 
garden? 

Even  then,  the  story  was  anonymous.  I  turn 
to  the  Reaper,  produced  by  the  villain  who  has 
received  my  guinea,  to  make  sure.  Yes,  the  story 
was  unsigned. 

Turning  the  leaves  I  notice  the  inevitable 
"  Answers  to  Correspondents " ;  and  my  own 
name  hits  me  in  both  eyes  at  once.  "  Mortimer 
Swift.  Thank  you  for  kind  wishes  and  generous 
gift  from  your  talented  pen.  The  story  appears 
in  this  number  on  pages  four  and  five.  We 
should  much  like  to  hear  often  from  you." 

That 's  how  you  get  something  for  nothing ; 
although  I  don't  value  the  story,  anyway.    Per- 


Honesty's  Garden  131 

haps  I  did  value  it  then,  when  as  a  novice  I. 
found  it  so  hard  to  get  into  print. 

Thus  it  is  possible  that  Honesty  obtained  the 
story,  per  Jones,  per  her  bonfire.  I  ask  Jones 
about  it,  and  she  answers  in  the  correct  Jonesian 
manner.  "  Reapers !  No,  I  have  n't  seen  no 
reapers.  What  are  they — them  things  you  trim 
the  grass  with?  A  paper?  Oh,  no,  sir.  I  don't 
never  destroy  any  of  your  writing  papers." 

Jones  always  calls  manuscript  writing-paper; 
which  seems  to  me  a  good  description.  "  It  was 
a  paper  like  this,"  I  explain,  showing  her  the 
copy. 

She  plainly  recognises  it,  and  is  taken  aback. 
"  Well,  there  was  a  lot  of  rubbidge  and  stuff 
under  the  desk.  I  didn't  think  they  was  any 
use.  You  told  me  that  what  was  under  there 
must  have  fell  out  of  the  waste-paper  basket, 
and  could  be  burnt." 

"  There  were  some  papers  like  this?  " 

"  Just  one  or  two,  now  I  call  it  to  mind.  And 
I  did  n't  burn  them,  in  course.  The  young  lady 
next  door  always  had  the  old  magazines  for  the 
Cottage  'Ospital.  I  expect  I  gave  'em  to  Miss 
Honesty." 

"  It  does  n't  matter  a  bit,"  said  I,  seeing  that 
it  upset  her  to  imagine  I  thought  her  over- 
zealous. 

"  It 's  no  good  leaving  'oles  and  corners  if 


132  Honesty's  Garden 

you  're  going  to  spring  clean,"  says  Jones. 
"  You  must  do  it  thorough ;  or  else  leave  it 
alone." 

I  mollify  her.  As  she  goes  forth  from  my 
den  she  hesitates  at  the  door.  "  I  suppose  you 
don't  hear  nothing  of  the  young  lady,  sir,  and 
her  mar?  I  do  so  'ate  that  garding  being  empty- 
like. They  was  saying  the  vicar  would  have 
liked  the  place — for  a  Cripples'  Home,  or  some- 
thing— but  you  was  just  too  quick  for  him." 

"  Mr.  Baillie  hears  from  Mrs.  Dene,  I  be- 
lieve," say  I,  turning  over  my  "  writing-paper  " 
as  a  kind  of  hint  that  I  wished  to  be  alone. 
"  Who  told  you  about  the  vicar  wanting  the 
property?  " 

"  Mr.  Wright's  young  gentleman — he  told  me," 
states  Jones.  She  adds,  in  so  extremely  doubt- 
ful a  tone  that  I,  too,  begin  to  be  doubtful — 
"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Baillie  knows  where  Mrs. 
Dene  has  gone.  Miss  Honesty  would  n't  ever  be 
writing  to  him,  would  she?"  As  I  do  not  an- 
swer, Jones  is  compelled  to  retire — which  she 
does  lingeringly  and  with  evident  regret.  She 
leaves  me  still  a  long  way  off  discovering  why 
Honesty  typed  my  story  and  gave  it  me  as  some- 
thing new.  I  understand  her  reason  for  not 
accepting  the  five  pounds.     But  no  more. 

Baillie  is  busy  in  the  garden,  and  the  Under- 
taker is  trimming  the  verges  with  accuracy  and 


Honesty's  Garden  133 

precision.     I  determine  to  go  down  to  them,  and 
roll. 


It  was  not  until  after  the  Undertaker  had  gone 
that  I  had  a  chance  to  open  the  subject,  and 
even  then  it  was  not  easy.  I  said  something 
about  the  garden,  of  course. 

"  It 's  pleasant  work,"  said  Baillie,  in  answer. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  that  so  much,"  I  went  on. 
"  I  meant  I  ought  n't  to  let  it  become  a  tax  on 
you,  Jock.  You're  so  good-natured  that  you 
don't  realise  you're  giving  up  a  lot  of  your 
time." 

"  I  would  sooner  be  here  than  in  the  city." 

"  Yes ;  but — are  you  sure  that  there  are  not 
other  things  you  would  like  doing  better?  Weed- 
ing a  garden  is  all  very  well " 

"  I  've  nothing  better  to  do,  Swift,  than  weed- 
ing— just  now.  It  will  be  very  restful  to  the 
brain." 

So  I  tried  another  tack.  "  I  'm  going  to 
Dieppe,  after  all — just  for  a  few  days.  By  the 
way,  when  do  you  take  your  annual  month?  Or 
is  it  six  months?  " 

He  considered  the  matter  gravely,  straighten- 
ing himself  up  from  a  recalcitrant  dandelion 
which  simply  would  n't  come  out  of  the  middle 
of  the  gravel  path.     "  It  will  be  on  Saturday 


134  Honesty's  Garden 

week  that  I  shall  be  having  a  few  days'  vaca- 
tion," said  he  deliberately. 

"  And  where  are  you  going?  " 

"  Just  anywhere." 

"  That  means  I  'm  not  to  ask  questions?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  was  thinking  I  would 
cross  the  water  with  you,  Swift — if  you  had  been 
willing." 

"  Would  you,  Jock?  I  never  gave  that  a 
thought.  It  would  n't  be  bad  though,  upon  my 
word."  I  was  rather  struck  with  the  idea. 
"  Why  did  n't  you  mention  it  before?  " 

"  I  might  be  bothering  you,"  he  began. 

"  Not  at  all,  I  should  like  it  immensely."  I 
took  a  shot  at  him :  "  I  had  an  idea  that  you 
would  be  seeing  the  Denes  during  your  holidays : 
or  else  I  should  have  suggested  your  coming  to 
Dieppe  with  us." 

He  made  no  reply — beyond  turning  to  his 
weeding.  After  a  long  pause,  he  said:  "And 
what  made  you  think  I  would  be  seeing  the 
Denes?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  only  imagined  that 
might  be  your  programme,  from  some  remarks 
you  once  made  to  me."  I  eyed  him  banteringly, 
but  he  weeded  with  obstinacy. 

"  I  often  wonder  where  they  are,"  I  added, 
hinting  outrageously. 

He  still  was  silent;  so  I  began  to  roll  the  lawn 


Honesty's  Garden  135 

again.  When  we  were  tidying  up  for  the  night 
he  suddenly  remarked,  apparently  apropos  of 
nothing  at  all — "  I  will  not  be  knowing  where 
Mrs.  Dene  has  gone.  She  does  not  favour  me 
with  her  confidences." 

I  was  so  taken  aback  that  I  did  not  even  resent 
his  sarcasm — palpably  aimed  at  myself.  It  was 
so  firmly  in  my  mind  that  Baillie  knew  where 
they  were.  "  You  don't  know  Mrs.  Dene's 
address?  "  I  questioned  blankly. 

"  Since  they  left  Carbridge  I  have  never  seen 
nor  heard  from  the  Denes,"  says  he,  then — and 
I  saw  that  he  was  bitterly  aggrieved. 

"  You  don't  imagine  that  I — "  There  I 
stopped,  and  faced  him.  The  full  seriousness  of 
the  issue  had  come  upon  me.  "  Surely  you  know 
where  they  are,  Jock — you  must  know!  Why, 
I  have  been  counting  on  your  knowing.  All  my 
plans  have  been  laid  in  that  belief.  Has  n't 
Honesty  written  you?  " 

"  Aye,  she  did  that.  I  have  her  letter."  He 
began  fumbling  in  his  coat  pocket.  "  I  will 
show  it  to  you,  Swift,  if  you  wish." 

"  My  dear  boy,  of  course  not !  Letters  like 
that  should  be  sacred " 

"  'T  is  only  to  thank  me  for  sending  her  a 
book,"  said  he,  gruffly.  We  went  inside  and 
washed  our  hands,  and  were  at  supper  before 
taking  the  subject  further.      Baillie  presently 


136  Honesty's  Garden 

produced  a  small,  carefully  preserved  note.     It 
ran  as  follows,  so  far  as  I  can  recollect : 

"Dear  Mr.  Baillie:  How  kind  of  you!  I 
have  so  long  wanted  to  read  Heart's  Desire,  and 
have  never  once  felt  brave  enough  to  ask  the 
author  where  I  could  get  it.  I  shall  think  of 
you  all  when  reading  the  story — it  looks  very 
interesting  from  a  small  peep  I  have  taken.  Yes, 
we  are  leaving  Carbridge  almost  immediately. 
I  do  not  know  where  we  shall  settle  ultimately; 
but  we  go  to  a  friend's  house  first,  in  High- 
gate.  I  shall  miss  my  garden,  and  my  good 
neighbours,  very,  very  much.  It  is  a  wrench  for 
mother — and  yours  always  sincerely, 

"Honesty  Dene." 

I  read  it,  and  felt  flattered  in  the  truest  sense. 
It  was  nice  of  Jock  to  have  given  her  my  book. 
I  told  him  so. 

"  She  was  wanting  to  have  it,"  he  answered, 
baldly ;  then  volunteered,  "  I  have  no  had  leisure 
to  read  it  myself,  Swift.  I  suppose  there  was 
naething  in  it  she  shouldna  read?  " 

He  said  this  in  such  good  faith  that  one  could 
not  be  upset.  "  It  is  a  perfectly  proper  book,"  I 
announced.  "  That 's  partly  why  it  did  n't  run 
into  a  second  edition.     Jock,  is  this  all?  " 

"  Miss  Dene  will  have  written  that  just  be- 


Honesty's  Garden  137 

fore  she  left  Carbridge,"  said  he,  labouring  to 
be  calm.  "  She  has  thought  naething  else  of 
me  worth  a  letter.  I  '11  trouble  you  to  pass  the 
whiskey,  if  you  please." 

I  complied  in  silence.  It  seemed  useless  to 
tell  him  that  I,  too,  had  had  no  word  from 
them ;  had  not  the  faintest  idea  where  they  might 
be.  Some  magnitude  of  the  task  I  had  so  lightly 
undertaken  came  upon  me 

I  heard  Baillie's  voice  as  from  afar:  "  'T  is 
not  the  water- jug  I  was  wanting,  Swift." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  I  'm  sure."  I  woke  up  to  my 
duties  as  host,  while  Baillie  liberally  helped  the 
table-cloth  to  my  famous  whiskey  in  his  intense 
agitation. 


CHAPTER  XV 

It  is  absolutely  hateful  to  have  to  confess  it, 
but  the  Denes  have  disappeared  into  the  un- 
known without  leaving  us  the  smallest  of  clues. 
Neither  the  Undertaker,  nor  Baillie,  nor  my 
faithful  Jones  have  the  least  knowledge  of  them ; 
but  all  three  plainly  think  that  I  know.  I 
simply  dare  n't  admit,  therefore,  that  my  infor- 
mation on  this  extremely  interesting  matter  is 
even  less  than  theirs. 

To  Baillie  and  the  Undertaker  I  have  become 
the  god  out  of  the  machine.  They  obviously 
wait  my  pleasure,  and  artfully  attempt  to  out- 
flank each  other  in  seeking  to  curry  favour.  I 
have  to  preserve  a  Sphinx-like  attitude,  which  is 
both  unbecoming  to  my  frank  nature,  and  in- 
tensely difficult  to  maintain.  My  inquiries  have 
had  to  be  conducted  in  the  manner  of  a  certain 
eminent  detective,  now  unhappily  deceased. 

An  advertisement  in  the  Morning  Post  sug- 
gested itself,  and  was  duly  achieved.  I  worded 
it   carefully,    declaring    my   intentions    crypto- 

138 


Honesty's  Garden  139 

grammatically  (Heavens,  what  a  word!)  as 
follows : 

"  Mrs.  D ,  of  C.-on-M.,  is  asked  to  forward 

her  address  to  Mortimer  S.,  who  very  earnestly 
wishes  to  be  remembered." 

I  keep  saying  inwardly  that  something  more 
must  be  done.     That's  as  far  as  I  get. 

Baillie  ought  to  find  Honesty,  of  course.  I 
should,  quickly  enough,  if  she  were  in  love  with 
me. 

In  such  a  contingency  I  would  move  heaven 
and  earth.  I  would  search  night  and  day.  I 
would  will  to  find  her,  and  bring  her  back  to 
her  little  nest,  and  cherish  her  far  beyond  every 
other  conceivable  aspiration  or  ambition.  She 
would  be  my  life — and  more  than  my  life. 
She  would  be  everything  worth  having  in  this 
wide  world — just  embodied  in  the  sweetest 
personality  ever  created 

I  recollect,  suddenly,  that  she  isn't  in  love 
with  me. 

Sometimes  I  fear  that  Baillie  is  not  pre- 
eminently worthy  of  his  good  fortune.  It  is 
uncharitable  of  me;  but  Honesty  is  such  a  very 
exceptional  girl.  I  should  not  have  given  up 
my  quartos  if  she  had  not  been  a  really  extraor- 
dinarily exceptional  girl.  Baillie,  it  seems  to 
me,  takes  it  too  easily.  He  is  ready  and  willing 
to  let  me  bear  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  quest 


140  Honesty's  Garden 

— only,  of  course,  he  does  not  understand  that 
I  am  "questing."  Suppose  I  fail;  what  is  to 
become  of  the  Home?  Obviously  I  cannot  live 
in  two  houses;  even  if  I  can  manage — with  the 
assistance  of  Jock,  the  Undertaker,  and  Jones 
— two  gardens. 

Jones,  by  the  way,  once  hinted  that  the  church 
people  would  like  the  Home  as  a  Play  House 
for  Crippled  Children.  One  might  have  worse 
neighbours;  I  will  hear  what  Carbridge  has  to 
say  on  the  point. 

But  why?  I  am  going  to  find  Honesty. 

I  frequent  the  A.B.C.  depots  in  Typewriting 
Land,  and  peer  about  me  inquisitively.  So  much 
so  that  I  have  to  keep  changing  to  a  fresh  depot 
every  day,  for  fear  of  the  manageress's  eye.  I 
quail  before  the  glance  of  an  A.B.C.  manageress. 
How  can  I  explain  to  one  so  haughty  and  emi- 
nent that,  please,  I'm  only  searching  for  Honesty 
Dene,  hoping  against  hope  that  she  may  one  day 
be  wandering  about  here,  carrying  a  rolled  and 
beribboned  typescript,  trying  to  get  work? 

It  is  my  very  unlegal  aspect  which  awakens 
distrust  in  the  rather  meagre  breast  of  the  man- 
ageress. Only  barristers  and  other  minions  of 
the  law  have  the  freedom  of  Typewriting  Land. 

Baillie,  as  I  say,  does  n't  appear  utterly  heart- 
broken.    He  's  anxious,  and  all  that.     But 

I  have  fancied  (I  may  be  entirely  out  of  it) 


Honesty's  Garden  141 

that  when  Eva  comes  motoring  Carbridgewards, 
Jock  is  a  wee  bit  inclined  to — forget.  Certainly, 
Eva  is  a  most  amiable  creature,  and  my  cousin ; 
still,  if  I  had  to  choose  between  Eva  and 
Honesty 

This  reminds  me  that  we  are  all  going  to 
Dieppe  in  a  few  days'  time.  Aunt  Sophie  has 
arranged  it.  She  arranges  everything;  and 
either  invited  Baillie,  or  encouraged  him  to  in- 
vite himself.  Uncle  Duveen  is  not  going  to  Aix 
unless  he  thinks  he  's  worse.  They  are  going  to 
try  him  with  a  rest-cure  at  Dieppe. 

I  laugh,  sardonically  and  silently,  at  the  no- 
tion of  a  rest-cure  in  that  very  lively  little 
Normandy  seaport! 


The  postman  has  brought  me  a  letter  from 
Gatherway,  enclosing  a  cheque  for  dividends 
much  overdue.  He  gossips  about  his  series,  and 
accuses  me  of  being  the  slackest  editor  he  has 
ever  had  the  misfortune  to  encourage.  I  am  to 
start  on  number  four  of  his  Little  Marvels 
(Little  Devils,  I  am  beginning  to  think  them), 
and  see  that  he  has  all  "  copy  "  by  end  of  Sep- 
tember. He  does  not  make  the  slightest  apology 
for  being  late  with  his  dividends. 

Any  spare  time  I  might  have  from  the  Colos- 
seum, which  I  am  finding  to  be  an  interesting 


142  Honesty's  Garden 

handful,  I  had  intended  to  employ  on  a  more 
complete  tour  of  Typewriting  Land.  I  am  very 
worried  about  that  child.  What  can  she  be 
doing? 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  we  miss  her  from 
that  garden.  She  has,  somehow,  grown  to  be 
part  of  my  rather  useless  life.  My  little  scheme 
for  her  happiness  has  quite  come  to  a  standstill. 
It  shall  go  forward  again,  however ;  we  will  make 
her  happy,  in  spite  of  herself. 

Why  is  she  silent?  Through  what  deep 
waters  are  they  passing,  those  two  brave,  de- 
voted women?  Their  very  silence  terrifies  me, 
because  I  know  a  little  of  the  world.  I  have 
written  Aunt  Sophie  that  I  can't  go  to  Dieppe: 
am  far  too  busy. 


Baillie,  reinforced  by  Eva  and  Miss  Harrison, 
has  demanded  my  instant  surrender.  I  am  to 
go  to  Dieppe,  or  else  have  Uncle  Duveen's  blood 
upon  my  head.  It  is  imperatively  necessary 
that  I  should  guide  my  revered  relatives  to 
France. 

"It's  so  easy,"  I  argue,  plaintively;  "you 
can't  want  me.  You  just  go  to  Newhaven,  and 
change  into  the  boat " 

"  Which  boat?  "  demands  Baillie.  "  I  will  be 
thinking  there  are  many  boats  at  Newhaven." 


Honesty's  Garden  143 

"Only  one  which  will  take  you  to  Dieppe/' 
I  retort.  "  The  obliging  officials  will  see  that 
you  do  not  make  any  mistake.  You  will  want 
French  money  on  board,  because " 

"  And  how  will  we  get  French  money  at  New- 
haven?  "  asks  the  relentless  Jock. 

"  There  is  a  bureau  on  the  platform." 

"  But  if  it 's  an  English  boat,  why  do  we  need 
French  money?"     This  from  Eva,  hopelessly. 

"  Because  there  's  a  way  they  have  of  calling 
a  franc  a  shilling.  *  Em  frong ' — pardon  my 
accent — they  say,  in  response  to  your  request, 
1  How  much?  '  You  give  them  a  shilling,  if  you 
have  no  French  money;  but  do  you  get  two- 
pence change — I  wonder !  " 

"  You  must  come  with  us,  Mr.  Swift."  Miss  Har- 
rison states  the  issue  calmly,  but  emphatically. 

Their  motor-car  is  pawing  the  earth  outside 
my  gardens.  (Am  obliged  to  write  in  the 
plural — since  Honesty  is  yet  to  seek.)  The 
bilious  youth  is  lost.  So  is  Jones.  I  am  so 
bothered  by  them  all,  and  by  Miss  Harrison's 
pretty  little  smile,  that  I  show  signs  of  collapse. 
At  once  they  rush  the  trenches,  attempt  the 
fortifications. 

"We  shall  never  be  able  to  get  through  the 
Customs  without  you,"  declares  Miss  Harrison, 
her  glance  gently  persuasive.  "  I  have  n't  the 
faintest  notion  of  French,  while  as  for  Eva— — " 


144  Honesty's  Garden 

"  I  've  forgotten  every  syllable,"  my  cousin 
affirms. 

"  French  is  not  necessary  at  Dieppe,"  I  hasten 
to  reassure  them,  struggling  still,  although  with 
a  strong  sense  of  impending  defeat.  "  When 
they  ask  whether  you  have  any  contraband — 
tobacco,  tea,  or  matches,  you  know — you  simply 
have  to  shake  your  heads,  look  (if  possible) 
charmingly  innocent,  and  repeat,  ( Rien — abso- 
lument.'    That 's  all  you  say." 

"  I  could  n't  say  it,"  Eva  decides ;  "  at  least, 
not  so  convincingly  as  that." 

"  There  will  be  great  confusion  at  the 
Customs,  I  make  no  doubt,"  ruminates  Baillie 
gloomily. 

"No  confusion  at  all,"  I  tell  him,  lightly; 
"  and  directly  you  are  through  you  must  stand 
shoulder  to  shoulder  outside  the  station,  until 
you  see  the  'bus  of  your  hotel.  Signal  to  the 
driver,  and  firmly  decline  to  enter  any  other 
vehicle  of  any  sort,  kind,  or  description." 

"  I  am  thinking  it  would  be  only  kind  to  Mrs. 
Duveen  that  you  should  go  with  us,  Swift," 
argues  the  young  man,  obstinately.  "  She  is 
your  aunt — and  it  will  be  your  duty." 

"What  about  Honesty's  garden?"  I  demand, 
out  of  patience  with  him.  He  avoids  my  stern 
regard,  and  mumbles :  "  It  is  your  ain  affair, 
Swift — that    gairden.     Mrs.     Dene    and    Miss 


Honesty's  Garden  145 

Honesty  would  come  back  to  it  awhiles,  may 
be?" 

Plainly  a  question.  I  am  not  going  to  answer 
it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  cannot  answer  it — 
satisfactorily. 

Miss  Harrison  is  firing  again  a  whole  battery 
of  cajolements :  "  Mrs.  Duveen  vowed  she  would 
take  no  denial.  Eva  and  I  are  special  ambas- 
sadors— ambassadresses.  We  called  for  Mr. 
Baillie,  and  we  can't  go  back  with  a  refusal. 
Now,  please — /  wish  you  to  come;  Eva  wants 
you;  Mr.  Duveen  won't  go  without  you — and  if 
Mr.  Duveen  won't  go,  we  none  of  us  can  go. 
Think  of  that." 

"  The  dad  is  trying  to  wriggle  out  of  it,  that 's 
a  fact,"  Eva  protests.  "  He  always  does  try  to 
wriggle  out  of  everything  jolly.  In  common 
with  most  men,  my  respected  father  is  fright- 
fully changeable.  Directly  we're  set  fair  he 
becomes  stormy." 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  'm  not  changeable." 

"  You  're  the  most  changeable  man  in  the 
world,  Mortimer.  You  said  you  were  going  to 
Dieppe,  and  now,  when  you  have  coaxed  us  into 
thinking  of  accompanying  you — you  meanly  try 
to  get  out  of  it." 

I  coaxed  them  into  going! 

Jones  and  the  bilious  gardener's  son  being 
still  lost  to  sight,  though  to  memory  dear — and 


146  Honesty's  Garden 

the  motor-car  being  on  the  point  of  blowing 
Carbridge  and  all  its  inhabitants  into  smither- 
eens, I  can  but  give  way.  "  I  '11  go  for  a  week- 
end. From  Saturday  till  Tuesday,  just  to  fix 
you  up  comfortably  and  securely." 

"  You  dear ! "  cried  Eva ;  and  before  I  could 
retaliate,  she  overpoweringly  embraced  me.  I 
liked  it,  although  convinced  that  she  was  peep- 
ing for  Baillie  all  the  time.  Miss  Harrison 
laughed ;  she  always  does  laugh. 

She  didn't  desire  to  express  her  feeling  of 
joy  and  gratitude  quite  so  openly.  She  merely 
squeezed  my  fingers  at  parting.  At  least,  I  like 
to  believe  she  did. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

We  are  at  Dieppe,  at  the  Hdtel  du  Rhin.  It 
is  modest,  comfortable,  and  on  the  front.  It  is 
also  scrupulously  clean.  The  cashier  speaks 
English,  which  is  a  help.  Of  course,  I  intend  to 
return  on  Tuesday,  at  the  latest. 

My  Aunt  Sophie  and  my  Uncle  Duveen  have 
taken  a  family  ticket  for  the  Casino — which  is 
practically  opposite — for  six.  We  are  therefore 
all  Duveens  for  the  time  being.  This  is  a  most 
economical  arrangement,  especially  as  Uncle 
Duveen  refuses  to  let  any  one  else  pay  any  part 
of  the  amount. 

The  weather  is  behaving,  and,  really,  the  place 
is  quite  delightful.  I  had  forgotten  that  the 
country  was  so  pretty.  We  walked  out  to  Pour- 
ville  the  same  afternoon  that  we  arrived,  and 
motored  back.  Baillie  and  Eva  could  not  find 
room  in  our  car,  so  chose  to  walk. 

At  dinner  we  sat  at  a  long  table,  preferring 
this  to  the  restaurant,  where  one  dines  a  la  carte. 
It  was  all  very  amusing  and  lively.  Afterwards,  I 
escorted  my  family  (for  Uncle  Duveen  wouldn't 

147 


148  Honesty's  Garden 

come  out)  to  the  Casino.  There  was  a  ball  go- 
ing on,  and  the  everlasting  petits  chevaux. 

Dancing  is  not  in  my  line,  but  I  like  to  watch 
it.  Eva  insisted  on  my  taking  her  round,  and 
then  Miss  Harrison.  I  suppose  my  dancing  was 
humorous  in  some  manner,  for  she  smiled  con- 
tinuously. At  last  I  remarked,  "  I  'm  afraid 
you  would  rather  sit  it  out?  " 

"  Would  you?  "  she  inquired,  instantly. 

"  Well,  I  'm  a  bit  of  a  duffer — and  I  hate  to 
bore  any  one.  Every  man  should  be  aware  of 
his  limitations." 

"  No  true  man  is,"  she  retorted. 

I  had  to  escort  her  outside,  to  discover  what 
this  might  mean.  We  walked  up  and  down  by 
the  sea  for  a  turn  or  two,  and  then  came  back. 
Eva  and  Jock  had  lost  themselves,  however,  and 
Aunt  Sophie  was  fixed  to  table  No.  4.  "How 
much?"  I  asked. 

She  answered  over  her  ample  shoulder,  and 
without  removing  her  fixed  stare  from  the  green 
cloth:     "About  a  louis." 

"  I  shall  fetch  uncle." 

"  You  can — at  eleven  o'clock.  I  have  a  sys- 
tem, and  it 's  going  to  be  worked  until  then." 

I  know  those  systems.  "  Shall  we  leave  her 
to  her  fate?  "  I  asked  Kitty  Harrison,  not  mean- 
ing it  really. 

Aunt  replied  for  her.    "  By  all  means — I  hate 


Honesty's  Garden  149 

to  have  people  asking  me  questions.  My  system 
demands  perfect  concentration.  Go  and  look  at 
the  sea,  both  of  you." 

"  We  have,"  said  Miss  Harrison,  plaintively. 

"  Go  again,  and  see  if  an  arm  sticks  out,  or 
anything,  holding  up  the  sword  Excalibur.  I 
command  you,  Modred." 

"  My  name  is  not  Modred ;  and " 

Twenty  people  said  "  Hush !  "  simultaneously. 
"  We  had  better  go,"  opined  Miss  Harrison. 

"  Dance?  "  I  queried. 

"  Let  us  stroll  into  the  town,  and  have  a  look 
round,"  she  suggested,  which  was  a  delicate  way 
of  telling  me  I  did  n't  dance  at  all ! 

I  got  her  cloak,  and  we  started  off  for  the 
Caf6  des  Tribuneaux.  As  we  crossed  the  road 
and  passed  under  the  gateway  between  the  two 
old  towers  of  the  chateau,  she  took  my  arm.  It 
was  done  in  such  a  nice  way  that  really  one 
could  n't  object. 

"  That  's  the  theatre,"  I  told  her,  pretending 
I  hadn't  noticed;  "and  that's  the  Hotel  de 
Paris,  a  very  jolly  little  house.  I  should  have 
taken  you  all  there,  if  the  *  du  Rhin '  had  been 
full.  By  the  way,  where  are  you  sleeping  at 
the  'du  Rhin/  you  and  Eva?" 

She  seemed  surprised,  but  answered,  "  At  the 
back,  looking  on  at  such  a  quaint  litle  court- 
yard !     It 's   the  dearest  room,   with   two   beds 


150  Honesty's  Garden 

under  canopies;  and  there  are  long  windows 
opening  to  a  little  verandah." 

"Be  sure  you  draw  your  curtains  close,"  I 
said,  in  a  fatherly  way ;  "  it 's  rather  difficult  to 
make  them  meet,  and  there  are  other  rooms  all 
round  that  court-yard.  I  remember  one  time  I 
was  here —  Ah,  here  's  the  Tribuneaux,"  I  ex- 
claimed, pointing  it  out.  "  It 's  a  capital  little 
cafe — and  very  Bohemian.  In  the  days  of  the 
Yellow  Book  this  used  to  be  a  merry  meeting 
house." 

We  found  comfortable  seats;  two  chairs  on 
the  pavement,  in  a  corner  not  too  near  the 
orchestra.  We  were  just  under  the  awning  and 
out  of  the  draught.  "  Now,  what  will  you 
have?  "  I  questioned. 

"Isn't  this  all  delightfully  irregular?"  re- 
marked my  companion,  settling  herself.  "  Here 
we  are,  all  by  ourselves " 

"  I  'm  old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather ! 
Besides,  this  is  France ;  and — here  is  the  gargon ! 
What  is  it  to  be?  " 

She  really  did  n't  know.  "  Coffee?  Cassis  et 
siphon?    Grenadine?    A  tiny  nip  of  Kirsch?  " 

"  Coffee,  of  course.  I  did  n't  know  one  could 
have  coffee  here — "  I  gave  the  necessary  orders, 
and  subscribed  to  the  orchestra.  Mademoiselle 
had  espied  us,  and  was  soon  attending — with 
outstretched  escallop  shell. 


Honesty's  Garden  151 

"  You  were  going  to  tell  me,"  began  Miss 
Harrison,  so  soon  as  the  coffee  had  appeared, 
"  something  about  our  court-yard.  I  expect  I 
ought  not  to  hear  it,  and  that  makes  me  all  the 
more  curious." 

"  It  was  nothing,"  I  told  her,  soothingly.  "  It 
left  off  at  the  interesting  part.  I  forget  now. 
Is  n't  it  jolly  being  here?  " 

"  I  think  it 's  very  nice,"  she  said,  dutifully. 
"  But  I  expect  you  miss  the  garden." 

I  wish  she  had  n't  said  that.  It  reminded  me 
of  something  I  have  been  trying  to  forget :  some- 
thing I  don't  admit  at  all.  Just  a  kind  of  little 
backstairs  thought.  "  I  am  a  bit  worried  about 
that  garden,"  I  confessed. 

Miss  Harrison  looked  sympathetic.  For  once, 
she  did  n't  smile !  "  I  should  like  to  tell  some- 
body all  about  it,"  I  announced,  brazenly. 
"  But  Aunt  Sophie  would  say  '  Stuff  and  non- 
sense '  long  before  I  had  finished — which 
would  n't  help  me  a  bit." 

She  considered  her  coffee,  and  suddenly  peeped 
at  me  above  the  rim  of  her  cup — like  an  adver- 
tisement I  seem  to  remember.  "  No,"  I  said — 
"  I  must  n't  try  you — even  though  you  do  look 
grateful  and  comforting." 

She  put  her  cup  down,  and  declared,  "  I  'm 
not  very  learned  about  gardens,  I  know.  But 
I  'm  a  good  listener." 


152  Honesty's  Garden 

I  thought  of  Jones.  What  would  she  say  to 
my  telling  this  girl  about  our  little  plot?  Cer- 
tainly Jones  is  n't  in  the  plot  yet.  But  she  will 
be.     And  Jones  is — Jones! 

"  The  story  is  far  too  long  and  too  prosy. 
Also,  we  have  to  fetch  Aunt  Sophie." 

"  If  you  have  bought  that  house,"  said  my 
companion,  quite  frankly  and  directly,  "with 
the  idea  of  establishing  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Baillie  in 
it — well,  it's  very  sweet  of  you  and  most  ro« 
mantic.  Are  you  quite,  quite  sure  you  have 
found  the  right  Mrs.  Baillie?" 

I  replied  at  once,  equally  open  with  her,  "  I 
have  carelessly  and  utterly  lost  the  Mrs.  Baillie 
that  was  to  be." 

"  Ah,  you  say  '  was  to  be ' !  "  She  beamed 
triumphantly.  "  I  know  the  plot  of  your  story, 
Mr.  Swift !  You  are  already  doubtful  as  to  who 
shall  be  planted — that 's  rather  a  slangy  expres- 
sion, but  it  fits! — in  your  garden.  Let  me  tell 
you  that  you  are  wise  to  hesitate.  People  like 
to  arrange  their  own  gardens,  and  their  own 
affairs." 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  that,"  I  found  myself  argu- 
ing. "  Baillie,  of  course,  is  rather  pig-headed. 
He  was  frightfully  in  earnest,  however;  and,  as 
girls  naturally  don't  let  one  guess  their  feelings, 
Honesty  might  have  been  in  love " 

"  She  probably  is  in  love.     It 's  still  present 


Honesty's  Garden  153 

tense  with  Miss  Dene,  I  hope."  Miss  Harrison 
laid  her  hand  on  my  arm.  "Do  you  know  I 
think  you're  rather  a  hasty  gardener!  Take 
my  advice,  a  very  worldly,  selfish  person's  ad- 
vice— let  your  roses  grow  a  little  before  you 
begin  to  train  them." 

"  But  you  would  n't  have  me  not  find  Honesty? 
I  want  to  put  the  child  back  into  her  garden, 
at  the  least.  That's  why  I  sold  my  quartos — 
you  don't  know  about  that,  though.  I  must 
find  her :  she 's  poor  and  friendless ;  and  there  's 
her  mother,  too.  God  knows  what  they  're  do- 
ing— while  I  'm  just  calmly  enjoying  myself. 
You  don't  suppose  I  bought  that  house  to 
keep?  What  on  earth  could  I  do  with  two 
houses?  " 

Thus  I  found  myself  telling  her  all  about 
the  Comedy  of  Love;  and  how  I  had  planned 
to  give  Honesty  her  garden  and  the  husband 
she  wanted 

"You  must  find  that  out  first,"  said  Miss 
Harrison  with  a  tiny,  amused  sort  of  laugh. 
"  I  should  n't  attempt  to  even  begin  the  search 
for  Miss  Dene  until  you  are  quite  sure  about 
that.  As  for  Mr.  Baillie — well,  these  young 
men  are  very  fickle." 

The  small  orchestra  was  employing  itself  har- 
moniously with  a  selection  from  Thomas's  dainty 
opera    "  Mignon,"   and   we   found   considerable 


154  Honesty's  Garden 

pleasure  in  listening.  I  had  plenty  to  think 
about;  and,  I  daresay,  Kitty  Harrison  had  her 
own  castles  to  build.  And  who  could  build 
under  pleasanter  circumstances  than  ours,  at 
that  instant?  Keally,  the  band  was  admirable; 
and  the  music 

Every  one  knows  how  delightful  is  the  music 
of  "  Mignon." 

A  quiet  crowd  had  gathered  in  the  roadway, 
a  crowd  of  all  sorts,  but  chiefly  from  the 
humblest  quarters  of  the  town.  Old  and  young 
of  the  Deippois,  rich  and  poor,  representing  all 
grades,  all  classes,  were  assembled  about  the 
Cafe  des  Tribuneaux:  those  who  could  afford  a 
modest  cup  of  coffee  had  seats  like  ourselves  at 
the  little  tables,  either  in  the  cafe  or  out  on  the 
trottoir.  The  majority  stood,  however,  in  the 
roadway,  in  orderly,  wonderful  silence,  their 
eyes  looking  towards  the  music,  themselves  lost 
in  dreams.  A  young,  tired-looking  man,  bare- 
headed, held  his  cap  in  nervous  fingers,  twisting 
it  round  and  round.  I  could  see  there  were 
tears  in  his  dim  eyes,  and  that  "  Mignon  "  meant 
some  beautiful  memory  for  him:  sad,  perhaps — 
most  beautiful  things  are  sad. 

Near  him,  a  young  girl — a  poor  seamstress 
very  likely,  her  hair  prettily  dressed  and  her 
clothes  charming,  for  all  they  were  of  common- 
est material.     Extraordinary,  the  gift  that  the 


Honesty's  Garden  155 

French  have  of  making  the  best  of  themselves: 
no  Cinderellas  in  France,  no  rags  and  tatters, 
while  one  can,  at  least,  find  needle  and  thread. 
She,  also,  was  under  the  spell  of  the  music.  I 
fancied,  as  we  sat  there,  that  the  vision  conjured 
up  by  those  two  was  visible  to  me.  A  cloudy 
picture,  a  cornfield  through  which  there  was  a 
path,  very  straight,  and  very  narrow;  a  little 
stile  over  which  one  entered  into  the  verdant 
meadow  beyond.  Here  were  cattle  grazing 
peacefully:  the  faint  tinkle  of  bells  came  with 
a  sense  of  the  gentle  perfume  of  the  fields. 
A  thin  line  of  smoke  rose  upwards  towards  the 
summer  sky  from  the  chimney  of  a  farmhouse,  a 
girl  was  feeding  some  fowls  near  the  rickety, 
half-hinged  gate;  the  bright  colour  of  her  dress 
vivified  the  picture.  Her  eyes  were  blue  and 
steady;  her  voice,  as  she  chattered  to  the  cluck- 
ing hens,  was  very  sweet. 

I  saw  a  man  coming  along  the  road  towards 
the  farmhouse:  he  paused  as  he  spied  the  girl. 
But  she  knew  he  was  there,  she  turned,  started ; 
a  quick  gleam  of  hope  illumined  her  face  as  she 
moved  at  once  to  meet  him.  He,  smiling  ten- 
derly, shook  his  head.  Not  yet;  it  could  not  be 
yet.  Probation  still.  Dear  God,  how  endless  it  all 
seems :  how  intolerably  patient  we  must  all  be — 
whilst  wishing  our  lives  away.  Oh,  that  it  were 
to-morrow!  cries  the  child;  and,  after  him,  the 


156  Honesty's  Garden 

lover — and  then,  the  man.  And  it  is  always 
to-morrow:  never,  never  to-day! 

I  saw  that  one  nervous  hand  had  released 
the  cap;  that  now  the  pair  stood  closer.  Her 
fingers  had  found  his;  had  imprisoned  them. 
Then  the  music  ceased.     Mignon  was  gone. 

It  was  time,  too,  for  us  to  go.  I  was  glad 
to  have  Miss  Kitty's  hand  on  my  arm — and  her 
silence.  The  night  was  very  lovely;  the  stars 
wrere  twinkling  down  at  this  old  earth,  inquisi- 
tive as  ever.  As  we  neared  the  Casino  we  found 
that  the  moon  wTas  above  the  sea,  a  trembling 
enchanted  road  had  been  cast  by  it  across  the 
water,  broadening  and  glistening  towards  us 
from  the  far-off  silver  distance. 

Aunt  Sophie  was  still  at  her  system,  and 
doing  well,  notwithstanding  it.  Soon  as  we  re- 
turned to  the  Casino,  she  gave  us  peremptory 
orders  not  to  interrupt,  but  to  try  hard  to  be 
good!  So  we  watched,  over  her  shoulders,  the 
faces  of  the  other  players.  Some  were  rather 
bored,  some  rather  flushed,  some  a  wee  bit  dis- 
consolate. All  conditions  were  at  the  tables 
now;  young  and  old,  pretty  and  plain — the 
world  and  the  half-world. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  exclaimed  very  audibly, 
a  little  later,  for  the  croupier  said  reprovingly, 
"  Ush !  Talking  ees  not  pairmit " ;  while  Aunt 
Sophie   supplemented   this,    in   her   "  italiccy " 


Honesty's  Garden  157 

way :  "Gracious,  Mortimer,  I  wish  you  would  n't ! 
How  can  I  make  up  my  mind  what  to  do  whilst 
you  are  breathing  so  frightfully  down  my  back !  " 

"  It 's  Gatherway,"  I  hurriedly  explained. 
"  Just  fancy.  I  'm  sorry,  aunt ;  but  it  took  my 
breath  away." 

"  It  did  n't,"  snapped  my  aunt.  "  Don't 
labour  under  that  misapprehension,  I  beg  of 
you." 

I  called  Gatherway's  attention  to  the  three  of 
us,  much  to  the  croupier's  indignation.  How- 
ever, we  managed  to  pacify  him,  and  Gatherway 
was  duly  presented  when  he  came  round  to  us. 
He  was  affable  in  the  extreme,  and  stated  his 
firm  conviction  that  I  was  a  "  gay  dog." 
"  Swift 's  supposed  to  be  exercising  his  massive 
brain  on  my  behalf,  Mrs.  Duveen,"  he  declared, 
in  his  great  big  voice.  "  It 's  lucky  my  business 
instinct  prompts  me  to  pay  him  by  the  piece! 
These  editors,  they  're  all  alike!  " 

"  Editors  need  holidays,  as  much  as  pub- 
lishers," said  I,  flatly. 

"  I  'm  here  professionally,"  he  roared,  in  the 
best  of  tempers.  "  I  have  been  arranging  a 
small  matter  with  Caiman  Levy,  in  Paris.  More 
work  for  you,  Swift." 

"  Not  translations,"  I  told  him. 

He,  disregarding  me  altogether,  annexed  Miss 
Harrison,  and  walked  her  off  to  the  ballroom, 


158  Honesty's  Garden 

where  dancing  had  just  commenced.  I  stayed 
with  Aunt  Sophie  and  the  petits  chevaux,  until 
she  bade  me  go  away.  "  You  're  bringing  me 
bad  luck,  Mortimer,"  she  complained. 

"  I  shall  bring  you  Uncle  Duveen  in  a  few 
minutes.     Do  you  know  that  it's  past  eleven?  " 

Jock  and  Eva  were  dancing,  so  Miss  Kate 
informed  us,  when  she  and  Gatherway  returned 
in  the  midst  of  my  aunt's  expostulations  that  it 
wasn't  eleven,  or  anywhere  near  eleven.  As  a 
result,  we  all  came  in  for  it.  "  Instantly  go 
away,  everybody,"  commanded  my  aunt,  as  one 
of  her  treasured  five-franc  pieces  was  clawed 
ruthlessly  off  Impair  by  the  relentless  rake  of 
the  croupier.  "  You  are  confusing  and  con- 
founding me,  and  I  can't  sustain  it.  Kitty,  take 
both  those  men,  and  dance  with  them  in  turn 
until  ten  minutes  to  twelve.  Now  I  'm  going 
to  back  Impair  again.  Yes,  I  will — it 's  my 
system."  The  horses  spun  round  and  round 
briskly.  "  You  '11  see,  Mortimer,  it  '11  be  seven 
or  nine — or  possibly  three — that 's  the  white  one 
with  the  chocolate  sleeves — "  The  small  ani- 
mals suddenly,  and  without  sufficient  reason, 
became  tired  and  languid;  the  brown  horse  first, 
then  the  mottled  one  that  only  had  such  a  very 
small  circle  to  negotiate.  "  Number  nine 's 
done,"  said  my  aunt,  easily,  "but  so 's  number 
four.     An  odd  number  will  win,  for  certain." 


Honesty's  Garden  159 

We  watched  anxiously,  as  numbers  three  and 
one  came  to  a  dead  stop.  Then  number  six — 
number  seven.     The  croupier  got  his  rake  ready. 

"Two's  going  to  win,"  chuckled  Gatherway; 
and  the  eyes  of  everybody  flashed  briefly  and 
angrily  in  our  direction.  "  It 's  a  hundred  to 
one — no,  it  '11  be  eight.     Or  five." 

Aunt  Sophie  declared  positively  that  five 
should  and  must  win.  It  crawled  slowly  up  to 
number  eight,  forged  past,  neared  number  two, 
who  was  betraying  considerable  fatigue.  Nearer 
yet 

"  Come  on,  five,"  said  Aunt  Sophie,  encourag- 
ingly. Five  came  on — and  won.  "  There  you 
are,  Mortimer,"  said  my  aunt,  rapturously. 
"  That  only  shows.  Now,  all  three  of  you  run 
away,  and  find  those  other  children.  I  'm  go- 
ing to  follow  the  bank's  luck.  Five  always 
comes  up  twice." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

The  faithful  and  conscientious  Jones  has  re- 
directed my  last  two  days'  letters  from  the 
Haven.  Consequently  I  had  a  budget  beside  my 
plate  at  dejeuner  this  morning,  with  an  alarm- 
ing bill  for  three  francs  odd  for  excess  postage. 
I  nearly  decided  to  get  back  home  at  once, 
before  Jones  should  quite  ruin  me. 

My  mind  was  fully  made  up  when  I  went 
through  the  correspondence.  Half  of  it  took  the 
form  of  circulars  from  coal  merchants,  second- 
hand book-sellers — I  mean,  of  course,  sellers  of 
second-hand  books — and  dealers  in  lines  of  sound 
old  tawny  port.  Messrs.  Rookem  and  Swindles 
having  just  purchased,  etc.,  etc.,  can  offer  a 
really  high-class  wine  at  a  nominal  figure.  One 
bottle  extra  free  with  every  order  for  half-dozen. 

I  wonder  whether  a  repeat  order  is  ever  placed 
with  Messrs.  Rookem? 

That  enterprising  firm  did  not  make  up  my 
mind,  however.  It  was  a  curious  little  letter 
which  changed  all  my  plans,  a  reply  to  my  adver- 

1 60 


Honesty's  Garden  161 

tisement  in  the  Morning  Post,  the  crypto- 
grammatic  one.  I  imagine  that  a  child  has 
written  the  note;  its  oddly  formal  style  seems 
to  show  that  the  child  has  had  help.  Here  it 
is  in  extenso: 

"  117,  Paradise  Street,  Clapham,  S.  W. 
"  Mrs.  Jolliman  presents  her  compliments  to 
Mr.  Mortimer  S.,  whose  advertisement  in  the 
papers  she  wishes  to  answer.  Mother  says  she 
had  lodgers  who  seems  to  be  the  ones  you  want. 
We  got  your  address  from  a  letter  which  had 
not  been  quite  burnt  up  under  the  grate  when 
we  were  clearing  out  their  rooms.  Mrs.  J.  only 
saw  your  respected  advert,  to-day  in  a  paper 
round  a  parcel. 

"Yours  truly, 

"  Mrs.  Jolliman. 
"  P.S. — If  there  is  any  reward  mother  thinks 
she  ought  to  get  it." 

The  last  touch  is  particularly  happy. 

I  think  it  good  enough  to  follow  this  clue, 
slender  though  it  be.  I  must  n't  be  staying  here 
too  long.  I  told  Aunt  Sophie  I  could  not  pro- 
mise more  than  to  bring  her  and  the  rest  to  a 
safe  anchorage:  having  done  this — and  Gather- 
way  being  conveniently  on  hand — I  propose, 
gently  but  firmly,  to  return  to  Carbridge. 


162  Honesty's  Garden 

Of  course,  exclamations  and  expostulations. 
Jock  has  arranged  to  take  us  all  to  Rouen; 
there  is  a  Grand  Bal  on  Thursday  at  the  Casino ; 
Gatherway  intends  to  stay  till  Saturday,  and 
we  can  cross  over  together;  Aunt  Sophie  thinks 
it  most  mean:  uncle  feels  that  he  might  want 
to  try  the  baths  at  Aix. 

I  meet  these  objections  seriatim. 

Jock  can  still  take  the  party  to  Rouen — one 
can't  very  well  miss  the  way — one  simply  gets 
into  a  train  at  Dieppe  town  station,  and  one 
gets  out  at  Rouen.  Then,  with  guide-book  in 
hand,  one  simply  goes  to  all  the  churches  and 
the  cathedral,  and  dines  at  the  Soleil  d'  Or,  or 
elsewhere. 

As  for  the  Grand  Bal — Miss  Harrison  can 
speak  for  my  being  no  dancer.  (Protestations 
from  a  pretty  little  mouth  Spartanly  ignored.) 

Gatherway,  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear,  will  stay 
until  Saturday.  He  will  make  an  excellent 
cicerone,  knowing  Normandy  by  heart.  (Yes, 
you  do — don't  contradict!) 

Aunt  Sophie  can't  mean  that  I  'm  mean ;  I 
know  her  too  well  to  imagine,  for  a  moment, 
that  she  would  wish  me  to  neglect  business. 
(Are  you  sure  it 's  business,  Mortimer?)  As  for 
uncle,  I  '11  promise  to  come  back,  if  he  should 
finally  decide  to  go  on  to  Aix 

Eva    and    Kitty    implore.     Jock    drops    into 


Honesty's  Garden  163 

Scotch — literally,  not  figuratively.  Gatherway 
sweeps  us  all  up  in  his  "  not  another  word " 
style,  and  forbids  me  to  leave  Dieppe  before  the 
end  of  the  week.  We  therefore  go  over  the  whole 
ground  again,  and  finally  compromise.  I  am  to 
leave  by  to-morrow's  mid-day  boat,  since  I  am 
so  perverse.  In  the  meantime,  I  am  to  take 
every  one  this  afternoon  to  Arques  la  Bataille, 
and  explain  who  was  killed  there,  and  why: 
giving  at  the  same  time  a  full  and  historic  ac- 
count of  the  battle — and  the  meaning  of  the 
motto  over  the  chateau  gate. 

I  find  that  there  are  many  other  things  I  have 
to  explain.  Why  has  the  coachman  so  many 
buttons  on  his  clothes?  Do  all  the  buttons  have 
corresponding  button-holes?  Did  Lord  Salis- 
bury ever  live  at  Arques — or  was  it  only  Dumas? 
When  are  we  going  to  see  the  Manoir  d'Ango, 
which  Lord  Salisbury  built?  If  he  did  n't  build 
it,  who  did? 

So  that  was  how  Dumas  came  to  write  The 
Three  Musketeers?  Oh,  Monte  Cristo,  then. 
Are  all  his  stories  true?  And  what 's  the  mean- 
ing of  Phare  d'Ailly,  and  how  do  you  pronounce 
it?  Far  di  yay?  How  funny! — and  does  it 
positively  mean  lighthouse?  Is  it  a  fact  that 
there  aren't  any  birds  in  France?  Can  any- 
body go  through  the  Forest  of  Arques,  and  are 
the  wild  boars  very  ferocious? 


1 64  Honesty's  Garden 

The  last  question  comes  from  Aunt  Sophie, 
naturally.  The  others  are  mostly  Eva's.  Uncle 
wants  to  know  what  the  Dieppe  links  are  like, 
and  whether  it  isn't  confoundedly  blowy  up 
there  on  the  cliffs.  How  many  Haskells  did  I 
lose  last  time  I  went  round?  Is  it  a  full  course, 
or  only  nine?    What  did  I  go  round  in? 

Miss  Harrison  is  interested  in  the  people  who 
live  in  the  cliffs  towards  Puy.  What  kind  of 
people  are  they?  Just  poor  folk?  She  under- 
stood they  were  charcoal  burners — why,  she 
couldn't  say;  but  don't  they  have  charcoal 
burners  in  France? 

They  do,  says  Gatherway,  when  they  want  to 
go  out  of  France.  It  is  cheaper  than  pistols, 
and  neater  than  drowning  yourself  in  the  Seine. 
And  one  looks  much  nicer  when  in  the 
Morgue 

Horrid,  everybody  declares — and  Gatherway 
sweeps  us  all  up  promptly.  To  tea,  where  Lord 
Salisbury  once  bought  a  pear,  or  something. 
Here  I  had  to  describe  and  expound  all  that  we 
had  seen  at  the  Chateau  of  Arques,  and  why  it 
was  called  "  la  Bataille." 

The  buttons  of  the  coachman  of  our  char-a- 
banc  again  came  up  for  criticism  on  the  home- 
ward journey — until  he  drew  rein  at  the  Hotel 
du  Clos  Normand,  at  Martin  Eglise.  Great  de- 
light here  of  one  and  all,  increasing  to  enthusi- 


Honesty's  Garden  165 

asm.  Certainly  a  most  charming  spot;  quite 
the  most  beautiful  little  place  in  all  the  beauti- 
ful country  round  about  Dieppe.  We  had 
"  galettes,"  and  various  "  syrops  " — tinctured  by 
soda-water.  "  Tea  for  me,"  says  Aunt  Sophie, 
"  even  though  they  do  charge  for  it.  Undoubt- 
edly, Mortimer,  the  tea  is  excellent.  China?  Of 
course — as  if  I  did  n't  know  that.  You  will  be 
teaching  your  grandmother  next." 

Uncle  asks,  are  there  links  at  Martin  Eglise? 
Am  I  sure  there  are  not?  He  would  sooner 
stay  here  than  at  Dieppe.  Will  I  ask  the  land- 
lord if  he  may  come  again  and  fish  the  brook? 
"  Yes,  but  certainly,"  says  the  smiling  proprietor 
of  the  Clos  Normand — "  Monsieur  shall  fish  all 
the  hours  of  day  and  of  the  night."  Uncle  states 
that  the  hours  of  day  will  be  good  enough  for 
him. 

We  disembark  at  the  Cafe*  Suisse,  and  get 
home  just  in  time  to  jump  into  our  clothes 
for  dinner.  Afterwards  to  the  theatre,  where 
Jeanne  Petit  is  delighting  the  Dieppois  on  alter- 
nate nights  with  "  Madame  Angot,"  and  the 
"Little  Michus."  Quite  different  the  little 
Michus  at  Dieppe!  The  General  des  Ifs  a  man 
of  humour,  yes — but  not  a  clown.  He  is  vehe- 
ment, and  he  sings  with  many  gesticulations; 
the  little  ladies  also  vehement:  charming,  and 
somewhat  French  now  and  then. 


166  Honesty's  Garden 

During  the  entr'acte  we  swarm  with  all  and 
sundry  to  the  Casino,  where  the  little  horses, 
equally  with  the  little  Michus,  are  charming — 
and  French!  Aunt  Sophie  persists  in  her  sys- 
tem, which  appears  to  me  to  consist  chiefly  in 
punting  backwards  and  forwards  on  Pair  and 
Impair,  with  an  occasional  flutter  on  number 
five.  However,  she  wins  a  louis  in  the  end  of 
it,  and,  thus  fortified,  we  all  swarm  back  again 
to  the  theatre. 

I  say  all;  but  Miss  Harrison  has  been  ap- 
parently "  swept  up "  by  Gatherway,  and  the 
blackness  of  the  night.  It  is  blowing  great  guns 
across  the  Plage;  a  stinging,  inspiriting,  devil- 
may-care  wind  is  roaring  and  blustering  all  the 
way  from  Paris,  to  see  what  the  Channel  and 
England  are  doing.  It  looks  well  for  my  cross- 
ing to-morrow. 

I  was  dispatched  to  find  Gatherway,  so  soon 
as  the  little  Michus  had  been  finally  sorted,  and 
the  rightful  Irene  des  Ifs  restored,,  by  a  pretty 
device,  to  her  lawful  and  awful  papa.  Truly 
the  wind  was  tonic.  I  felt  really  a  quite  young 
man  when  battling  with  it  along  the  Plage.  It 
pounced  at  every  corner;  shouted  and  laughed 
and  frisked;  plunged  headlong  into  the  sea; 
bounded  out  again,  flapped  the  loose  papers  on 
the  hoardings,  whistled  down  the  chimneys,  im- 
pudently whisked  off  hats,  and  agitated  petti- 


Honesty's  Garden  167 

coats.  Never  was  so  audacious  a  wind.  "  Off 
— off !  "  I  seemed  to  hear.  "  Come  on — what  are 
you  waiting  for?  Allons  vite!  Don't  you  wish 
you  were  me?  Because  I  shall  be  there  first, 
my  boy.  Off,  off !  What  a  life !  What  a  night ! 
Look  up  there  at  the  stars  twinkling.  They 
know, — they  see  out  of  their  great  big  golden 
eyes.  Come  along,  lazy.  Don't  wait,  don't 
wait — I  'm  on  the  track — I  'm  going  faster  than 
thought  to — Her!  Do  you  understand  that, 
my  poor  old  young  man?  I  make  my  plans  as 
I  go,  rushing  and  roaring  under  the  stars — I 
don't  care  how  wide  they  open  their  big  golden 
eyes!  Off — off!  I  don't  wait,  and  wonder — 
and  worry.     I — do !  " 

I  heard  laughter  in  the  wind  as  it  fled; 
laughter  that  stung  me  somehow.  It  left  a  taste 
of  tears  in  the  air;  or  was  it  only  the  salt 
spray? 

Gatherway  seemed  highly  delighted  with  him- 
self when  at  last  I  found  him.  Kitty  Harrison 
was  practically  tucked  under  his  arm;  her  face 
was  in  a  glow.  "  What  a  night,  eh?  What  a 
wind ! "  He  laughed,  too,  and  then  Miss  Kate 
— "  We  went  as  far  as  the  pier ;  but  when  we 
tried  to  come  back " 

"  I  know,  but  will  Aunt  Sophie  believe  it?  " 
I  offered  my  left  arm,  and  thus  she  had  an  arm 
of  each  of  us.     "  Now  then,  all  together !     They 


1 68  Honesty's  Garden 

have  gone  to  the  Tribuneaux  for  cafe  marmitte 
and  liqueurs;  I  am  to  bring  you  both  to 
confession." 

"  What  a  night !  "  shouts  Gatherway  again. 

"  The  wind  told  me  that  long  ago,"  I  cried 
back  to  him.  "  The  wind  told  me  ever  so  many 
secrets." 

Miss  Harrison  peeped  at  me.     "  Eeally?  " 

I  ventured  to  squeeze  the  small  hand  holding 
my  arm — affirmatively. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  crossing  was  no  joke,  though.  I  came 
back  in  the  Tamese,  a  beastly  little  boat,  which 
I  sincerely  hope  has  become  firewood  a  long  time 
since.     I  was  not  ill ;  but  I  did  n't  feel  well. 

To-day  I  called  on  Mrs.  Jolliman.  Paradise 
Street  is  not  anywhere  near  Paradise,  I  must 
imagine.  Possibly  it  leads  to  Paradise,  as  the 
way  is  long  and  narrow,  and  difficult.  But  I 
would  n't  like  to  promise  it.  No.  117  was  as 
much  like  No.  116  as  No.  116  was  like  the  rest  of 
the  houses.  There  is  a  flashy  public-house  at  the 
end  of  Paradise  Street,  but  I  don't  think  it  is 
intended  as  a  symbol.  Also,  a  little  way  down 
on  the  left-hand  side,  where  the  roadway  briefly 
widens  to  permit  the  passage  of  traffic,  there  are 
five  stunted  poplar  trees,  "  all  in  a  row,"  as  the 
song  declares.  Thereafter  the  street  dwindles 
and  diminishes,  and  becomes,  if  possible,  even 
more  offensively  unlike  its  name. 

No.  117  was  especially  difficult  to  pick  out, 
by  reason  of  some  caprice  of  the  authorities, 
through  which  half- of  the  houses  have  been  re- 

169 


170  Honesty's  Garden 

numbered  as  part  of  the  Prince  of  Wales's  rents. 
I  perseveringly  blundered  along  until  I  reached 
Paradise  Alley,  then  I  captured  a  small  pig- 
tailed  child  carrying  a  can,  and  apparently  en 
route  for  the  Prince  of  Wales's  public-house. 
"  Which  is  Mrs.  Jolliman's?  "  I  asked,  careful 
not  to  frighten  my  young  lady  with  figures. 

"  Down  by  those  trees  you  've  come  past  it 
you  have,"  she  answered  all  in  a  breath.  She 
swiftly  moved  the  beer-can  to  the  "  off  "  side.  I 
said,  "Down  by  the  trees,  eh?  Which  house 
is  it?  " 

"  The  middle  one  opposite  the  trees  what 's 
got  the  swing  between  'em  ever  so  far  down." 

I  thanked  her,  and  commenced  to  retrace  my 
steps.  The  young  person  eyed  my  back  thought- 
fully— I  could  feel  that  she  did.  She  gave  two 
hops  and  a  skip,  and,  swinging  the  empty  can, 
caught  me  up.  "  Mother  's  doing  dressmaking 
out  so  it 's  no  use  your  calling  until  she  comes 
in." 

"Are  you  Miss  Jolliman?"  I  ventured. 

"  Euphemia  Felicia  Jubilee  Jolliman  that 's 
me."  She  again  deemed  it  wise  to  keep  the 
beer-can  out  of  my  reach. 

"  Then  you  can  tell  me  all  about  your  lodgers, 
I  suppose,"  I  was  beginning,  when  she  cut  me 
very  short  with,  "  Father  says  never  answer  no 
questions  nor  don't  ask  'em  but  keep  your  teeth 


Honesty's  Garden  171 

close  together  and  you  won't  never  give  yourself 
away." 

"  Excellent  advice  in  the  ordinary  course, 
Euphemia." 

"  Billy  they  calls  me  short  for  Jubilee  see 
and  it  is  n't  such  a  mouthful." 

"  I  do  see,  Billy,  and  strongly  approve  your 
father's  sentiments.  But  I  have  come  a  long 
way " 

"  They  always  say  that,"  interrupted  Billy, 
whisking  her  pig-tail  over  her  left  shoulder  with 
the  queerest  little  jerk  of  her  head.  "  You  had 
best  begin  right  at  the  beginning  and  say  who 
you  are  because  I  may  have  got  a  message  for 
you."  I  had  a  momentary  gleam  of  a  small 
black  bow  at  the  end  of  the  small  pig-tail, 
ere  the  latter  was  whisked  into  position  once 
more. 

"  I  'm  Mr.  Mortimer  S.,  if  you  please." 

She  flashed  me  the  shrewdest  glance  imagin- 
able.    "  What  paper  was  it  in?  " 

"Morning  Post;  at  the  top  of  the  second 
column  on  the  front  page." 

"  What  was  the  words?  " 

"  '  Mrs.  D.  of  C.-on-M.  is  asked  to  write '  " 

"  Wrong !  Forward  her  address  what 's  the 
rest?  " 

"  Forward  her  address  to  Mortimer  S.,  who 
very  sincerely  wishes  to  be  remembered." 


172  Honesty's  Garden 

"  It  was  '  earnestly  wishes '  because  I  recker- 
lect  it  was  a  boy's  name." 

"  A  boy's  name?  " 

"  Ernest  of  course."  We  had  reached  the  five 
poplar  trees  by  this. 

"  That 's  my  swing  but  I  'm  too  old  for  it 
now."  The  pig-tail  briefly  and  disdainfully 
flashed  to  the  front.     "  I  let  the  kids  have  it. 

00  yes,  swinging 's  low." 

You  have  become  used  to  my  small  guide's 
"  comma-less  "  method  of  speech  by  this,  so  that 

1  need  not  make  any  further  attempt  to  indicate 
it.  We  paused  before  No.  117 — I  understood 
that  it  must  be  No.  117,  although  nothing  very 
clearly  demonstrated  whether  it  was  any  number 
at  all. 

"  I  should  n't  have  thought  swinging  was  very 
low,"  I  argued. 

"  You  better  come  in  and  wait,"  she  conde- 
scended. She  hung  the  beer-can  on  the  railings 
of  the  gate,  and  announced  over  her  shoulder, 
*  That 's  for  the  milk.  I  went  to  fetch  it,  but 
of  course  he  was  out." 

"The  milkman?" 

She  nodded.  "  I  just  got  there  too  late,  and 
missus  wouldn't  put  it  in  the  book.  I  don't 
like  her — she  's  no  class." 

Billy  opened  the  door  with  a  large  key,  dis- 
covered under  a  dilapidated  boot-scraper.     She 


Honesty's  Garden  173 

entered  the  gloom  of  a  narrow  passage,  papered 
years  ago  in  imitation  of  marble  slabs.  Now- 
adays, the  marble  had  visibly  whitened,  with 
age  or  damp,  in  great  fantastic  patches.  A 
straight  and  steep  flight  of  linoleumed  stairs  led 
us  to  the  "  front  and  back  " — a  sitting-  and  a 
bed-room  which  Mrs.  Jolliman  was  accustomed 
to  let  "with  cruet,  candles,  and  attendance" 
— if  asked  for. 

"  But  some  likes  to  do  their  own,  and  then 
it 's  eighteenpence  a  week  cheaper,"  Billy  in- 
structed me.  u  They  did  their  own  after  the 
first  fortnight." 

"Your  late  lodgers?"  I  asked,  surveying  the 
poor,  shabby  little  apartment. 

"  Mrs.  and  Miss  D.,"  replied  Billy,  eyeing  me 
thoughtfully.  "  This  was  their  living-room,  you 
know."  She  made  a  direct  attack  upon  the  sub- 
ject uppermost  in  her  mind.  "  If  there 's  any 
reward,  you  had  best  give  it  to  mother,  on  the 
quiet  like.  Father,  he  " — she  hesitated — "  father 
don't  care  to  be  bothered  with  business." 

I  told  her  that  I  would  be  careful  not  to 
bother  father  with  business;  at  which  Billy 
seemed  relieved.  "  Father 's  had  a  lot  of  worry, 
you  know;  and  he  gets  awful  bad  headaches 
sometimes." 

She  jerked  her  pig-tail  to  the  front,  then  to 
the  rear,  then  eyed  me  with  her  head  on  one 


174  Honesty's  Garden 

side,  like  a  sharp  little  bird.  "  I  found  the 
letter  what  gave  us  your  address.  It  was  a 
envelope,  at  least;  and  nigh  burnt  up.  Mother 
couldn't  read  it,  but  I  did.  I  soon  found  it 
out." 

"  There  was  no  letter  inside  the  envelope?  " 

"  Nothing  much.  Perhaps  miss  was  going  to 
write  to  you,  and  then  altered  her  mind." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Billy.  Would  n't  it  be  as 
well  for  us  to  find  out  whether  my  advertise- 
ment was  really  meant  for  your  mother's 
lodgers?     There  might  be  some  mistake." 

"  There  could  n't  be,"  flashed  the  pig-tail  im- 
mediately. "  That  envelope  was  directed  to 
you,  wasn't  it?  And  you're  Mr.  Mortimer  S., 
aren't  you?  " 

I  admitted  that  there  could  be  no  doubt;  al- 
though very  desirous  that  there  should  be.  I 
had  already  pictured  things — that  giving  up  of 
"  cruet,  candles,  and  attendance  "  after  the  first 
fortnight,  was  eloquent.  I  asked  the  obvious 
question,  "  Do  you  know  where  Mrs.  Dene  and 
her  daughter  have  gone?  " 

Billy  screwed  up  her  eyes  in  profound  inward 
deliberation.  She  unscrewed  them  cheerfully, 
after  a  moment's  thought.  "  I  could  find  out," 
she  decided. 

"  Then  you  don't  actually  know?  "  My  spirits, 
already  depressed  by  the  five  poplar  trees  with- 


Honesty's  Garden  175 

out  and  the  marble  paper  within  No.  117, 
Paradise  Street,  sank  more  and  more. 

"  I  'm  certain  I  could  find  out,"  Billy  declared. 
"  I  seen  where  they  sent  their  boxes." 

I  guessed  that  the  little  wretch  knew  more 
than  she  chose  to  tell.  Evidently  she  was  keep- 
ing her  father's  advice  well  in  her  mind.  There 
was  no  other  way  out  of  it.  "  Here,  Billy,  is  a 
silver  penny  for  yourself.  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you  for  entertaining  me  so  long.  Tell  your 
mother  I  will  write  to  her  to-night." 

She  hopped  over  to  me  for  her  half-crown,  took 
it  with  well-concealed  indifference.  "  Thanks, 
I  'm  much  obliged  to  you."  She  used  my  own 
words,  feeling  that  the  situation  demanded  them. 
As  I  turned  to  go,  Billy  volunteered  a  further 
item,  one  that  instantly  gave  me  "  furiously  to 
think." 

"  Funny  thing,  you  know,  Miss  D.  should  n't 
have  seen  your  advert.,"  said  she,  lightly.  "  The 
paper  was  ropped  round  a  parcel  she  left  here 
herself,  for  mother — round  some  clothes  she  gave 
mother  as  a  present,  because — "  Billy  sud- 
denly recollected  her  father  again.  "As  a 
present,  you  know,"  she  concluded  abruptly. 

At  once  I  saw  it  all.  Honesty  had  seen  my 
advertisement;  had  intended  a  reply. 

"  You  're  sure  there  was  no  letter  in  the 
envelope?  " 


176  Honesty's  Garden 

Billy  stiffened.  "  I  'm  not  in  the  habit  of 
telling  untruths."  Her  wispy  pig-tail  bristled 
with  indignation. 

"  No,  no,  of  course,  I  did  n't  mean  it  that 
way.  I  meant  mightn't  there  have  been  part 
of  a  letter  under  the  grate — as  well  as  the 
envelope?    Did  you  look?  " 

"  There  was  just  some  little  bits  of  a  letter. 
Mother's  got  them.  But  there  isn't  anything 
you  can  make  out."  Billy  was  very  uneasy  so 
soon  as  she  had  spoken.  She  clearly  imagined 
that  now  she  was  "  giving  herself  away."  She 
bustled  past  me  down  the  stairs;  a  plain  hint. 
I  made  another  attempt  to  win  her. 

"  Billy,  listen  to  me.  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand that  I  'm  terribly  anxious  to  help  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Dene.  They're  very  dear  friends  of 
mine.  I  'm  afraid  they  're  in  trouble,  Billy,  and 
I  know  they  are  too  proud  to  let  any  one  guess. 
I  'm  not  here  wanting  to  ask  you  a  lot  of  idle 
questions.     Won't  you  help  me  to  help  them?  " 

She  paused  at  the  street-door,  looked  back 
cautiously  at  me.  "You  aren't  Hire  Pur- 
chase? " 

I  didn't  grasp  her  meaning  until  she  added, 
"  Nor  a  Promissorory  Note?  " 

"  No — most  certainly  and  emphatically.  Just 
a  friend,  Billy,  who  did  n't  understand — until  it 
was  too  late.     A  very  stupid  friend,  you  '11  say." 


Honesty's  Garden  177 

She  nodded  in  full  agreement,  then  stood  with 
her  back  to  the  door,  with  her  head  tightly 
rammed  against  the  panels,  until  she  bethought 
her  of  the  pig-tail.  "  Something  to  Her  Ad- 
vantage?   Is  that  what  you  are,  straight?" 

"  I  hope  so.     Indeed  I  hope  so." 

She  hopped  back  to  me.  "  What  did  you  turn 
'em  out  for,  then?"  she  requested,  sharply. 
"  What  did  you  buy  'em  up  for?  Why  did  you 
go  and  take  all  the  things  she  cared  for?  " 

Before  the  appalling  suddenness  and  fierce- 
ness of  this  attack  I  gave  way.  I  did  nit  show 
to  advantage;  I  was  wordless. 

"  Took  her  garden,  too,  you  did.  Oo — did  n't 
I  see  her  crying  about  it?  I  don't  want  your 
old  half-crown."  She  thrust  it  into  my  hand. 
"  I  don't  want  it ;  I  would  n't  touch  it.  It 's 
no  good  your  being  sorry.  You  done  it  now. 
Too  late!  I  should  think  it  was  too  late."  Her 
anger  grew,  and  her  eyes  flashed  lightning. 
"  '  Earnestly  wishes  to  be  remembered  ' !  As  if 
people  would  forget,  after  all  you  done  to  them ! 
She  don't  forget :  you  need  n't  worry  about  that." 

"  Billy " 

"  Don't  you  Billy  me !  I  hate  you,  hate  you ! 
You  with  a  house  of  your  own,  too.  And  a  gar- 
den." She  was  back  to  the  door,  and  tore  it 
open.  "  That 's  my  garden,  and  I  don't  drive 
people  out  of  it." 


178  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Until  to-day,  Billy,"  I  told  her  quietly.  Her 
flame  of  wrath  died  down  as  hastily  as  it  had 
risen,  leaving  her  pale  and  trembling. 

"  You  are  being  as  unkind  to  me  as  you  think 
I  have  been  unkind  to — "  A  cruel  suspicion 
stabbed  me.  "  Did  Honesty  tell  you  all  this? 
Did  she  think  it?  " 

"  She  never  said  anything,  of  course.  Why 
should  she?  She  never  thinks  only  good  of 
every  one,  no  matter  what  they  does.  She 's 
the  nicest,  kindest,  truest,  best  person  in  the 
whole  world;  and — and — "  Billy  was  quite 
comma-less  once  more,  while  signs  were  showing 
that  the  storm  would  end  as  storms  generally 
do.  "  And  she  's  gone !  "  suddenly  and  loudly 
wailed  the  poor  little  pig-tail,  breaking  down. 
"  She  's  gug-gug-gone " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

I  went  away  from  No.  117,  Paradise  Street, 
after  comforting  the  child  to  the  best  of  my 
clumsy  ability.  I  went  humbly,  I  hope,  under- 
standing that  even  in  Paradise  Street  one  could 
be  sure  of  finding  the  most  beautiful  story  in 
the  world.     The  only  story,  I  dare  to  suppose. 

Truly,  Honesty  diffuses  love  and  kindliness  al- 
ways, like  the  sweetbriar  in  her  garden,  which 
scents  the  air  in  summer,  and  offers  red  haws 
for  the  hungry  birds  in  winter  time.  Prickly, 
too,  that  she  may  be,  very  properly,  a  little 
feared  as  well!  I  felt  myself  scratched  and 
chafed  with  the  knowledge  that  Honesty  had 
thought,  even  briefly,  all  those  bad  things  of 
me — that  I  should  covet  her  home  and  garden, 
and  be  ready  to  snatch  them  away  at  first 
chance.  I  wonder  how  she  came  to  hear;  how 
she  came  to  so  mightily  misjudge  me.  I  am  hurt 
to  feel  that  Honesty  could  think  me  so  mean,  so 
small,  so  contemptible.  I  am  more  than  hurt 
that  she  could  n't  even  bring  herself  to  write  to 
me. 

179 


180  Honesty's  Garden 

Prickles;  undoubtedly  prickles.  One  can  be 
scratched  badly  by  sweetbriar,  for  all  its 
sweetness. 

Mrs.  Jolliman  has  communicated  further,  un- 
der the  hand  and  seal  (an  accidental  thumb- 
mark)  of  Miss  Billy.  Mrs.  J.  regrets  that  she 
was  absent  from  home  when  I  called,  and  hopes 
no  offence.  She  quite  understands  there  is  no 
reward;  but  all  the  same,  would  like  to  be  of 
service,  for  the  young  lady's  sake.  Hoping  to 
have  a  favourable  reply,  Yours  truly,  Mrs. 
Jolliman. 

The  remark  about  the  reward  was  evidently 
inspired  by  Billy.  I  have  not  yet  quite  made 
friends  with  the  pig-tail.  I  am  still  under 
observation. 

I  answered  Mrs.  Jolliman  from  the  Colosseum, 
and  stated  my  intention  of  calling  upon  her 
again  at  some  time  more  convenient  to  her,  if 
she  would  kindly  make  an  appointment.  Her 
reply  came  per  special  messenger,  Miss  Pig-tail 
herself.  She  was  duly  announced  by  the  inquiry 
clerk,  in  tones  indicating  a  modicum  of  sur- 
prise, justified  to  some  extent.  For  Miss  Billy 
had  come  forth  from  Paradise  Street  in  full 
war-paint. 

Not  that  the  pig-tail  had  been  looped  up,  or 
captured  in  a  net,  or  fluffed  out  into  a  moppy 
kind  of  cushion  for  her  hat  to  flop  upon.     The 


Honesty's  Garden  181 

pig-tail  remained  in  all  its  chaste  severity  of 
outline,  possibly  braided  a  shade  or  so  more 
tightly.  But  the  costume  surrounding  and  hem- 
ming in  Miss  Billy  was  immense,  in  every  sense 
of  the  word.  Most  striking  was  the  blue  serge 
jacket,  somehow  vaguely  familiar.  Much  too 
long  in  the  body,  too  large  in  the  chest,  and 
too  small  in  the  waist.  It  was  buttoned  where 
it  would,  not  otherwise.  Below  this,  a  singular 
green  skirt,  all  flounced  in  the  wrong  places 
seemingly,  and  caught  up  by  a  string  arrange- 
ment, simple,  efficient — but  not  precisely  elegant. 
Below  this  (at  intervals)  a  scarlet  petticoat 
sagging  in  between  two  rather  broomsticky, 
darned-stockinged  legs.  More  darns  than  stock- 
ing in  parts;  and  made  especially  noticeable  by 
the  fact  that  the  legs  ended  in  two  left-footed 
boots,  considerably  too  large.  She  had  black 
cotton  gloves,  and  carried  a  corpulent  um- 
brella; her  hat  was  of  a  mushroomy  character, 
indefinite,  but  possibly  originally  a  triumph  of 
the  millinery  art.  It  was  certainly  over- 
powering. 

She  favoured  me  with  a  particularly  ferrety 
glance,  and  began,  as  usual,  entirely  with- 
out punctuation — "  Mother 's  compliments  and 
she  thought  I  had  better  come  up  and  ex- 
plain that  she  has  n't  got  much  time  to  see 
any   one   except   of   an    evening   and   father 's 


182  Honesty's  Garden 

at  home  evenings  this  week  and  mustn't  be 
worried." 

"  That 's  all  right,  Billy.  I  daresay  you  and 
I  can  come  to  terms.     Won't  you  sit  down?  " 

"  I  can't  stay  long  because  I  'm  away  from 
school  and  ought  to  go  this  afternoon  to  make 
up." 

"Don't  you  always  go  in  the  afternoon?" 

"  I  'm  a  half  timer,  I  am.  Directly  I  'm  up  to 
the  sixth  standard  I  need  n't  go  any  more.  Not 
unless  I  like." 

"  Oh,  well,  perhaps  they  will  let  you  off  this 
afternoon,  if  I  write  an  excuse." 

"  Are  you  a  County  Council?  " 

"  Not  entirely ;  but  still  I  may  be  able  to 
work  it  for  you.  Take  off  your  hat  and  gloves, 
and  we'll  have  some  lunch  whilst  we  talk."  I 
rang  for  my  clerk,  and  gave  him  instructions. 
He  said  he  fully  understood,  sir,  and  would  see 
that  the  manageress  understood  also. 

Billy  was  impressed  that  this  resplendent 
young  man  should  have  called  me  "  sir  " ;  and  I 
began  to  score  a  little.  She  settled  down  in  a 
big  desk-chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  my  table. 
"  Is  this  where  you  do  newspapers?  "  she  asked, 
awe-struck. 

"  Sort  of  newspapers — "  I  began. 

"  What  sort  of  newspapers?  " 

"  Once-a-week  papers.     All  about  literature — 


Honesty's  Garden  183 

that 's  books ;  painting — that 's  pictures ;  music 
and  belles-lettres — that 's  French." 

Billy's  keen  glances  searched  my  editorial  den. 
"  That 's  a  typewriter,  is  n't  it?  And  that 's  a 
copying  press.  Father  does  them  at  his  office, 
sometimes.     He 's  in  the  post-office,  he  is." 

She  closed  her  lips  tightly  together,  suddenly 
perceiving  that  this  might  come  under  the  head- 
ing of  "  Giving  Herself  Away."  "  He 's  not  a 
postman,  of  course,"  she  added,  with  fine 
emphasis. 

"  In  the  General  Post-office,  eh?  That 's  a 
grand  big  building,  not  very  far  from  here." 

"  I  been  there,"  she  remarked  briefly,  then  fell 
to  critically  regarding  her  two  left-footed  boots, 
to  signify  that  discussion  on  these  lines  had  gone 
far  enough.  She  dived  her  hand  presently  into 
an  impossible  pocket  under  her  skirt,  involving 
an  alarming  display  of  the  scarlet  petticoat. 
"  I  got  the  bits  of  that  letter,"  she  announced, 
producing  a  crumpled  envelope,  and  laying  it  on 
the  table ;  "  and  mother  said  I  was  n't  to  forget 
to  tell  you  Mrs.  D.  had  been  very  ill." 

I  inquired,  hastily  and  anxiously,  when? 
"All  the  time,"  said  Billy;  "at  least,  most  all 
the  time.  Kind  of  a  weak  sort  of  illness; 
nothing  much  only  it  kep  her  in  bed.  They 
did  n't  have  the  doctor,  not  once." 

This  to  cheer  me,  and  to  make  light  of  the 


184  Honesty's  Garden 

matter.  Billy  pushed  the  crumpled  envelope  to- 
wards me,  and  watched  narrowly  as  I  opened  it 
and  drew  forth  a  few  charred  pieces  of  paper. 
She  came  round  to  my  side  of  the  desk  to  help 
me  arrange  them.  "  There  's  only  a  tiny  scrap 
here  and  there  that  fits  in,"  she  explained,  deftly 
sorting  the  pieces.  "  I  can  make  out  a  little  of 
it,  see?  'Dear  Mr.  Swift/  that's  the  begin- 
ning, f  Mother  wishes  me  to — '  The  rest  of 
that  line  's  gone.  '  She  would  so  much  like — ' 
that 's  plain,  is  n't  it?  " 

"What's  this?  ' Please  let  me  pay — '  I 
don't  understand  that  at  all." 

Billy  grimly  responded,  "  Don't  you?  Are 
you  certain  sure? "  Her  mind  was  still  run- 
ning on  hire  purchase  and  promissory  notes. 
How  could  I  convince  Billy  that,  instead,  I  am 
positively  "  Something  to  Her  Advantage?  "  I 
pored  over  the  fragments  of  Honesty's  letter, 
pondering  the  best  way  out  of  it. 

"  Here  's  another  sentence.  Look ;  it  fits  in 
after  *  pay.'  "  I  showed  it  to  her  triumphantly. 
"  Now  read,  Billy."  I  held  the  pieces  down 
firmly,  as  they  were  showing  a  tendency  to 
flutter  all  over  the  place.  Some  one  had  opened 
the  outer  door.  My  small  companion  slowly 
read  aloud,  "  Please  let  me  pay  you  in  my  own 
way,  by  simply  thanking  you." 

"  Well  now,  Billy?  " 


Honesty's  Garden  185 

The  clerk  came  in  with  our  lunch,  and  soon 
we  were  busy  enough  with  more  material  mat- 
ters. During  the  meal  I  told  Billy  all  about 
the  queer  old  genie  who  wanted  just  to  clap  his 
hands  and  make  everybody  happy.  The  story 
was  a  great  success. 

She  understood  it,  too — did  this  small  fan- 
tastic person.  In  short,  I  was  accepted  as  a 
Something  to  Every  One's  Advantage,  ere  the 
lunch  was  cleared  away.  Things  had  been  grad- 
ually working  in  this  excellent  direction  from 
the  moment  she  heard  my  clerk  call  me  "  sir." 
"  And  now,  Billy,  you  see  that  there  's  only  one 
thing  to  be  done.  It  won't  be  difficult  if  we 
both  give  our  minds  to  it.  We  must  clap  our 
hands,  and  find  Mrs.  and  Miss  D." 

She  likes  me  to  refer  to  the  Denes  in  this  way. 
It  breathes  an  air  of  mystery,  and  thus  appeals 
to  her  odd,  inquisitive,  romantic  nature.  I  dis- 
covered that  Billy  hadn't  really  more  than  the 
faintest  notion  as  to  Honesty's  hiding-place. 
She  simply  knows  the  name  of  the  station 
wherefrom  their  boxes  have  been  dispatched. 

However,  the  charred  pieces  of  Honesty's  un- 
finished note  gave  us,  at  length,  a  clue.  There 
seemed  to  have  been  some  sort  of  address  men- 
tioned in  the  body  of  the  letter,  of  which  only 
the  town  was  now  existing.  Of  the  town  only  a 
suburb — figuratively  speaking.     We  managed  to 


1 86  Honesty's  Garden 

decipher  between  us  the  four  suggestive  letters 
C  L  I  F— plainly  denoting  "  Cliff." 

"  Ratcliff — where  the  Highway  is,"  guessed 
Billy.  "  Father  he  knows  Ratcliff  because  he 
was  born  there." 

"  I  don't  fancy  it  's  Ratcliff,  somehow,"  I 
argued,  gently  but  genially.  "  There  's  a  West- 
cliff,  now — near  Southend-on-Sea.  Let  us  see  if 
we  can  find  the  first  part  of  the  word." 

Billy  sorted  over  the  flimsy  remains.  "  It 
must  begin  with  a  C,  because  that's  a  capital, 
plain  as  anything." 

I  was  doubtful.  "We'll  make  it  Clif.  .  .  . 
How  about  Clifton?" 

There  was  nothing  about  Clifton  finding 
favour  with  my  honourable  and  intelligent 
friend.  She  did  n't  know  such  a  place,  and  her 
tone  more  than  hinted  that  I  did  n't  either.  She 
leaned  to  Clifford  Street,  Kennington,  "  where 
the  trains  go  across." 

Her  guess  set  my  mind  working  in  a  new 
direction.  There  must  be  scores  of  Clifton  and 
Clifford  Streets  in  London  alone,  and  it  may 
well  be  only  the  name  of  a  street,  and  not  a 
town  at  all.  We  decided  to  leave  the  matter 
for  the  present.  "  I  think  I  '11  go  home  with 
you  to  Paradise  Street,  Billy,  and  take  my 
chance  of  seeing  your  mother."  I  rang  for  the 
clerk,  and  whispered  a  few  instructions.      He 


Honesty's  Garden  187 

nodded  understanding^,  being  a  remarkably 
handy  young  man. 

"  Please  come  with  me,  will  you?  "  said  he  to 
Billy,  confidentially.  "  We  're  going  to  have  a 
look  at  the  shops,  sir,"  he  added  to  me,  "  while 
you  do  your  writing.  What  time  shall  we  come 
back  to  tea?  " 

"  Not  later  than  four,"  I  answered,  outlining 
the  scheme.  "  Will  you  be  certain  to  buy  every- 
thing for  that  little  girl  I  mentioned?  Billy 
here  will  help  you  choose  the  things ;  she  's  about 
the  same  size,  is  n't  she?  " 

"  I  should  say  just  exactly  the  same  size,  sir. 
Come  along,  Billy.  You  '11  help  me  buy  new 
clothes  for  Mr.  Swift's  little  girl,  won't  you?  " 

"  He  never  told  me  he  had  a  little  girl,"  re- 
marked Billy,  with  some  return  of  her  distrust. 
"  I  don't  believe " 

"  You  come  along  with  me  and  I  '11  tell  you 
all  about  it,"  said  my  ever-ready  young  as- 
sistant.    "  There  's  a  sweetstuff  shop  close  by." 

"  Is  Miss  D.  your  little  girl?  "  requested  Billy 
directly,  and  totally  ignoring  the  sweetstuff  shop. 

"  Miss  D.  ?  Oh,  no — oh,  dear  me,  no !  "  I 
laughed  at  the  idea,  but  Billy  did  not  smile. 
"  I  don't  see  why  she  might  n't  be  your  little 
girl,"  she  declared  roundly.  She  regarded  me 
consideringly.     "  Is  she  too  old?  " 

"  Ever  so  much  too  old,"  I  told  her  quickly. 


1 88  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Good  gracious  me,  how  old  do  you  think  I 
am?" 

"You're  much  older  than  father,  of  course," 
she  was  ruthlessly  commencing,  when  my  fellow- 
conspirator  came  to  the  rescue.  "  You  just  take 
my  hand,  and  come  on,"  he  whispered;  "don't 
you  see  we're  interrupting  the  guv'nor?  I'll 
tell  you  about  the  little  girl.  There  's  hundreds 
of  dolls  at  the  shop  we  're  going  to.  Some  of 
'em  open  and  shut  their  eyes,  and  others  can 
talk.  They  go  '  Peep-eep !  mamma !  I  want 
you-oo-oo ! ' " 

"  They  don't,"  said  Billy,  flatly. 

"You  just  come  and  see."  His  tone  was  so 
convincing  that  she  decided  she  would  go.  "  But 
if  they  don't  talk,  you  '11  have  told  a  great  big 
whopper,"  she  warned  him. 

As  they  were  going  out  of  the  office  I  tele- 
graphed "  boots."  My  young  man  replied  in  the 
vernacular,  slightly  forgetful  of  our  respective 
positions.     "  What  do  you  think !  " 

"  The  guv'nor  said  books,"  he  hastened  to  ex- 
plain to  Billy.  "  I  'm  going  to  send  them  in  to 
him.  Office  work,  you  know.  He 's  going  to 
do  my  work  while  I  take  you  out"  (the  im- 
pudence of  it!).  "  That 's  a  bit  of  luck  for  both 
of  us,  eh?  " 

"  It 's  a  bit  of  luck  for  you/9  observed  Billy, 
pointedly. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Fine  feathers  assuredly  make  fine  birds.  Billy 
was  certainly  a  remarkably  fine  bird,  fully 
fledged,  when  she  returned  a  good  two  hours 
later.  Also  she  had  been  evidently  largely  en- 
joying herself.  She  and  my  young  man  were 
the  best  of  friends.  I  perceive  that  the  Colos- 
seum has  a  diplomatist  of  the  highest  quality  in 
this  lad.  His  salary  shall  be  increased  at  the 
next  revision;  I  have  marked  his  name  in  our 
books. 

As  sub-editor  I  have  a  fair  amount  of  in- 
fluence, so  I  have  been  pleased  to  find  out. 
Possibly,  it 's  because  I  do  most  of  the  work 

However,  I  must  record  Billy's  triumphant 
re-entry  of  the  offices  of  the  Colosseum.  She 
looked  taller,  and  despite  the  pig-tail,  positively 
pretty.  She  had  chosen  a  jacket  and  skirt  of 
dark-blue  serge,  and  had  a  dark  blue  spotted 
sort  of  blouse,  showing  where  the  little  jacket 
was  unbuttoned;  black  stockings,  and  neat 
little  shoes;  kid  gloves,  if  you  please — and  a 
round  hat  of  blue  felt,  with  a  quill  stuck  in  it. 

189 


190  Honesty's  Garden 

"  I  just  passed  the  order  over  to  the  manageress 
of  Wallis's,"  said  the  tactful  organiser  of  the 
marvellous  transformation.  "  Complete  and  en- 
tire," I  said,  "  that  's  the  governor's  definite 
ultipomatum.  It  was  all  done  in  a  little  over 
an  hour;  wonderful." 

"  I  am  very  pleased  with  you,  Carr." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Manageress  a  friend  of 
mine,  in  a  way,  if  I  may  say  so."  He  blushes 
meaningly.  "  It 's  all  due  to  her,  sir.  Shows 
taste,  I  think?" 

"  Decidedly  so."  Billy  is  self-conscious,  and 
betrays  the  fact  by  standing  alternately  first  on 
one  foot,  then  on  the  other.  "  Will  these 
clothes  suit? "  she  asks.  "  The  lady  made  me 
put  them  on.  There 's  a  new  petticoat,  too ;  and 
there  's " 

"  They  're  very  nice  indeed,"  I  cut  in,  to  pre- 
vent further  embarrassing  revelations.  "  What 
do  you  think  of  them  yourself,  Billy?  " 

"  I  like  them  all  right,  of  course,  and  if  the 
little  girl 's  same  size  as  me  and  likes  things 
neat  and  plain  and  not  a  lot  of  frips  and  frills 
and  high  colours  and — "  She  is  again  devoid 
of  punctuation,  and  rather  breathless.  "  I  says 
she  's  a  very  lucky  little  girl  and  I  told  her  so 
and  I  told  him  so  and  the  dolls  do  talk  because 
I  heard  them  only  they  did  n't  do  it  like  he  did 
but  much  better." 


Honesty's  Garden  191 

"  Told  her?  "  I  am  puzzling  it  out  when  Carr 
interprets :    "The  manageress,  sir.    At  Wallis's." 

"  She  said  they  were  all  for  me  but  of  course 
that  's  silly." 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  them,  Billy?  " 

I  could  tell  that  her  small  heart  leapt.  "  But 
they  're  not  for  me  are  they  because  it  would  n't 
be  fair  and  proper  to  the  little  girl  what  you  've 
bought  'em  for." 

"  Well  then,  they  are  for  you.  And  you  're 
the  little  girl  in  question.  It 's  the  reward,  you 
know." 

"  I  don't  want  any  reward."  She  fidgeted 
awkwardly.     "  Where  's  my  own  clothes?  " 

I  saw  that  I  had  struck  a  false  note.  "  It 's 
just  the  queer  old  genie  clapping  his  hands! 
You  're  going  to  help  me  find  Mrs.  and  Miss 
D.,  aren't  you?  It  may  be  a  long  business — 
although  I  hope  it  will  be  a  very  quick  one — 
and  you  must  allow  the  queer  old  genie  to  do 
things  in  his  own  way.  Your  clothes  are  in  that 
bundle." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  corroborates  Carr. 

"  So  you  see?  We  will  have  our  tea  at  once 
— perhaps  Mr.  Carr  will  ask  for  it — and  then 
we  '11  go  home  in  the  tube  to  Paradise  Street, 
and  ask  mother  what  she  thinks." 

Billy   is  only  half  convinced.     I   see   I  am 
rather  bungling  the  business,  so  leave  it  alone. 


192  Honesty's  Garden 

Carr  fetches  the  tea,  and  has  such  a  flow  of 
conversation  whilst  he  is  doing  it,  that  we  find 
ourselves  in  smooth  waters  again.  Invaluable 
chap,  that  young  man.  He  "  tips  me  the  wink," 
as  he  somewhat  vulgarly  phrases  it.  "  Make 
light  of  them,  sir — pretend  they  've  cost  hardly 
anything."  I  endeavour  to  follow  this  advice,  but 
Billy  is  too  shrewd.  "  It 's  very  kind  and  I  'm 
not  saying  it  is  n't  and  I  am  sure  I  'm  very  much 
obliged."  She  gives  a  little  choke  over  her  tea, 
and  dives  deeper  into  her  cup.  When  she 
emerges,  she  adds,  "  But  it  ought  to  have  been 
the  milkman,  it  ought.  Not  me,  because  I 
haven't  done  anything.  Father  won't  like  it; 
and  besides " 

She  pauses;  and,  at  thought  of  her  father, 
becomes  the  essence  of  discretion.  "  Mother 
would  have  said  the  milkman,  or  the  butcher," 
she  concluded,  primly.  "  Because  then  it 's  done 
and  can't  be  got  back  except  in  credit.  But 
father  he  had  to  put  his  overcoat — "  She  checks 
herself  suddenly. 

Carr,  who  has  been  waiting  on  her,  seemingly 
understands.  "  You  '11  have  to  sleep  in  them, 
Miss  Billy — that 's  the  dodge,"  he  says,  at  which 
they  both  chuckle,  and  I  fancy  I  begin  to  com- 
prehend. I  remember  that  milkman ;  Billy  would 
rather  I  had  paid  his  bill — bless  her  for  a 
thoughtful  little  soul! 


Honesty's  Garden  193 

"  Perhaps  if  the  genie  clapped  his  hands  again 
when  we  get  home,  you  know,  other  things  might 
happen,"  I  say,  cheerfully. 

As  we  were  leaving  the  office  she  slipped  her 
hand  into  mine.  Her  other  fingers  held  her 
bundle  tightly  as  (I  recollect)  they  had  held  the 
beer-can. 

"  You  must  promise  you  won't — be  angry — 
with  father,"  she  faltered.  "  No  one 's  ever 
angry  with  him,  because  he  is  n't  strong  and  the 
hours  are  so  awkward." 

"I  shouldn't  dream  of  it,"  I  told  her.  "I 
hope  he  won't  be  angry  with  me." 

She  gave  small  hops  and  skips  to  keep  pace, 
and  clutched  my  hand  convulsively.  "  He  won't 
be  angry,  not  him,"  she  remarked  with  a  fine 
show  of  courage.  "  He  's  never  very  cross  with 
me.  He  's  never  cross  with  any  one  for  long. 
It 's  only  when  his  head 's  bad,  that 's  all." 


I  have  arranged  a  plan  of  campaign,  with  the 
assistance  of  Billy  and  Billy's  mother.  Her 
father,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  counts  for 
nothing.  I  am  sorry;  but  I  didn't  take  to  him. 
He  might  have  had  one  of  his  headaches,  how- 
ever, and  so  not  have  been  at  his  best. 

I  have  contrived  to  become  lodger  at  Mrs. 
Jolliman's;  that  is,  I  have  taken  a  bed-sitting- 
13 


194  Honesty's  Garden 

room  in  Paradise  Street,  by  the  month,  at  a 
really  nominal  rent.  Mrs.  Jolliman  is  to  keep 
her  card  in  the  window,  so  that  her,  "  apart- 
ments "  may  still  seem  to  be  available.  For  we 
have  an  idea  that  Honesty  will  give  a  sign  to 
Paradise  Street  before  long;  some  clue  that  will 
help  us  to  discover  which  of  the  many  "  Cliffs  " 
in  the  world  are  giving  her  and  her  mother 
shelter.  It's  a  chance,  as  likely  as  unlikely — 
perhaps  more  so.  At  any  rate,  Jones  and  I  will 
be  on  the  look-out  at  Carbridge,  be  sure:  for  I 
am  to  be  a  lodger  in  name  only  in  Paradise 
Street. 

This  entering  of  myself  upon  the  books  of 
Mrs.  Jolliman  permitted  me  ground  for  inter- 
viewing the  milkman,  and  also  gave  me  a  means 
of  explaining  Billy's  sudden  grandeur.  Her 
mother  gracefully  accepted  my  little  selfish 
charities — for  all  charity  is  selfish  when  you  are 
giving  just  to  please  yourself,  as  I  invariably 
do.  But  Mr.  Jolliman,  presumably  because  of 
the  headache  already  supposed,  was  distinctly 
offensive.  Not  in  direct  attack — for  then  I 
should  have  dealt  with  him;  but  in  tone  and 
attitude. 

Thus:  if  people  were  to  be  permitted  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  prestige  and  shelter  of  the 
Jolliman  establishment,  they  must  pay  honour- 
ably  and  straightforwardly   for  same — not  by 


Honesty's  Garden  195 

underhand  tricks;  nor  by  attempts  to  compen- 
sate for  an  extreme  privilege  by  making  offer- 
ings in  kind  to  the  children  of  the  said 
establishment.  It  positively  made  him  sick, 
etc.,  etc. 

I  may  like  Jolliman  better  as  I  grow  older. 

So  here  I  am  at  Carbridge  again,  with  my 
books  and  my  pipes;  my  faithful  Jones,  and 
her  profligate  cat.  Nothing  has  changed,  except 
that  Keedels  is  visibly  wasting.  Late  nights  are 
telling  on  his  constitution. 

I  hear  of  some  wonderful  trout,  taken  by  the 
local  anglers ;  but  should  like  to  have  had  ocular 
proof  that  three  of  them  turned  the  scale  at 
eight  pounds.  We  have  n't  had  a  fish  weighing 
over  twelve  ounces  taken  in  Carbridge  waters 
since  I  have  lived  here.  And  (between  our- 
selves) Carbridge  fishermen  are  much  the  same 
as  all  other  anglers. 

The  garden  seems  to  have  become  extrava- 
gantly overgrown  in  a  night.  Is  that  the  way 
autumn  makes  it  up  to  us,  I  wonder — by  allow- 
ing profusion  where  even  before  we  had  plenty? 
I  don't  like  to  see  places  (or  rooms)  too  full; 
and  a  garden  with  everything  crowding  (rather 
rudely,  so  far  as  the  perennials  are  concerned) 
makes  me  think  of  pruning-knives  and  the 
like. 

I  have  negotiated,  per  my  Undertaker — who 


196  Honesty's  Garden 

seems  to  have  been  latterly  attending  to  busi- 
ness even  more  strictly  than  usual — for  a  pur- 
chase of  the  lopped  branches  from  some  oaks 
which  have  been  felled  in  a  neighbouring 
meadow.  With  these,  a  few  pounds  of  good 
French  nails,  and  some  patience,  I  propose 
erecting  rustic  work  arches  and  screens  for  our 
new  roses.  I  have  already  put  up  an  arch  over 
my  own  gate — I  mean  the  Haven,  of  course — and 
although  it  is  a  wee  bit  out  of  the  true,  the 
effect  (to  my  mind)  is  distinctly  artistic.  Be- 
fore Christmas  I  shall  have  a  score  or  so  of 
new  roses  from  a  man  at  Lyons,  who  sends 
them,  via  Ashford,  nicely  packed  at  very  re- 
markably cheap  rates.  Climbers  grafted  on 
high  stock  (for  which  I  pay  a  little  more) 
will  flourish  over  my  arches  and  rustic-work 
screens,  and  will  hide  any  defects  next  season. 
All  my  friends  will  say  I  am  a  wonderfully 
clever  fellow,  whatever  they  may  secretly 
think. 

Jones  has  not  openly  expressed  any  opinion 
about  the  rustic  arch.  She  assisted  in  the 
"  carting "  of  the  wood  from  the  meadow  one 
dusky  evening,  and  has  notified  me  that  the 
stack  which  I  have  built  in  her  "  yard  "  inter- 
feres considerably  with  the  hanging-out  of  her 
washing  each  Monday.  I  have  promised  to 
get  through  with  the  scheme  within  the  next 


Honesty's  Garden  197 

week,  and  have  arranged  with  the  Undertaker 
accordingly. 

He  is  naturally  all  for  neatness  and  precision. 
He  argues  that  we  must  have  foundations  for 
our  uprights.  I  ask  why,  when  cross-pieces  and 
ties  of  very  "  rusticky "  pattern  will  keep  all 
fast  together?  He  also  suggests  that  we  had 
better  peel  the  wood  before  going  any  further, 
so  that  the  arches  can  be  done  over  with  Stock- 
holm tar.  I  fear  Jones  would  never  wait  for  us ; 
she  would  take  forcible  means.  One  evening  I 
should  return  home  to  find  my  lopped  branches 
had  disappeared.  "  I  did  n't  think  you  wanted 
that  there  wood  any  more,  you  was  so  long 
using  of  it." 

I  have  thought  of  doing  some  of  this  rustic 
business  in  the  garden  next  door,  but  wish  to 
ask  Baillie's  opinion  first  of  all.  Which  reminds 
me  that  I  have  a  letter  from  him,  informing  me 
that  Aunt  Sophie  and  Co.  are  returning  next 
Sunday.  Baillie  suggests  that  I  might  have  a 
week-end  at  Newhaven,  and  so  be  on  hand  to 
meet  them.  I  hardly  imagine  that  I  could  stand 
Newhaven  (although  the  name  of  the  town  is 
delightful  enough)  for  longer  than  an  hour  or 
two,  therefore  I  shall  compromise  by  going  to 
Brighton  on  Saturday  next,  whence  I  can  easily 
run  over  to  Newhaven  at  the  right  time. 

I  put  this  proposition  to  Jones,  who  remarks, 


198  Honesty's  Garden 

"  You  don't  never  seem  to  be  at  home  now  since 
the  house  next  door  has  been  empty — so  it  don't 
much  matter  " — which  is  an  absurd  observation, 
look  at  it  how  you  will. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

I  want  to  write  it  all  down  as  coherently  as 
possible,  so  force  myself  to  begin  with  the  record 
that  I  reached  Brighton  yesterday  afternoon. 
It  was  raining,  and  the  sea  and  sky  were  grey 
and  disagreeable;  also  the  south-westerly  wind 
from  Normandy  had  found  a  way  across  the 
Channel.  It  was  a  really  depressing  afternoon, 
a  fitting  prologue  in  a  sense 

But  this  is  to  anticipate,  and  bring  confusion 
where  I  am  particularly  desirous  of  being  lucid 
and  intelligible.  My  mind  still  works  in  such 
a  chaos  of  emotions,  however,  that  I  can  see  this 
chapter  of  my  life  will  require  a  lot  of  editing 
before  it  can  be  allowed  to  go  into  my  book. 

Shortly — I  must  tell  it — I  have  found  Honesty. 
She  and  the  worst  part  of  her  pitiful  story  are 
mine.  For  I  must  let  myself  think  of  Honesty 
in  that  manner.     She  is  truly  my  child  now. 

It  is  curious  that  I  should  have  chosen  Brigh- 
ton— or  rather  that  Brighton  should  have  been 
practically  chosen  for  me — for  just  this  parti- 

199 


200  Honesty's  Garden 

cular  little  holiday.  And  the  rain  too,  which 
drove  me  rather  dejectedly  from  one  shelter  to 
another  along  the  King's  Road,  has  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  I  am  so  unobservant  a 
creature  that,  otherwise,  I  might  never  have 
spied  that  piteous  little  figure,  huddled  up  and 
asleep  out  of  the  wind  under  the  indifferent 
protection  of  the  shelter  on  the  Madeira  Drive. 
We  might  have  missed  each  other ;  and  then 

Well,  who  can  say  what  then?  Fate  works 
on  consistent  lines,  I  verily  believe.  The  string 
of  circumstances  which  has  brought  me  to 
Brighton  just  now,  just  at  the  right  and  wonder- 
ful instant,  was  woven  by  clever  hands.  It  hap- 
pened in  quite  ordinary-wise  that  I  saw  her  in 
wet  mackintosh,  and  tired,  so  tired — sleeping 
there  against  the  ivied  wall  at  the  back  of  the 
shelter.  I  looked  and  saw  a  pale  girl  sleeping, 
worn  out  and  abandoned  by  all  good  fortune; 
her  hair  blown  about  and  her  shabby  hat  awry, 
the  rain  still  driving  in  at  her  in  angry  fitful 
gusts,  her  hands  ungloved  and  looking  very  cold. 
So  I  saw  her  and  felt  pity ;  and  then  amazement ; 
and  then 

It  came  upon  me  to  catch  her  up  suddenly 
and  very  close;  to  hold  her  tightly  and  securely 
from  all  unhappiness  for  ever  and  ever.  To  run 
away  with  her  from  all  the  whole  world,  so  that 
she  might  be  mine  utterly  and  wholly ;  so  that  I 


Honesty's  Garden  201 

might  alone  care  for  and  guard  her.  A  strange, 
inexplicable  feeling  is  in  my  heart;  and  yet  is 
no  new  thing.  It  is  part  of  me;  always  must 
be  that  part  of  me  which  counts;  always  has 
been  the  better  part  of  me — since  I  knew 
Honesty. 

Something  perhaps  of  the  love  which  a  father 
feels  for  his  child?  The  love  that  my  father 
had  for  me,  when  I  was  a  little  chap — as  help- 
less as  Honesty  looked  then?  Our  only  excuse 
for  living  is  that  we  may  love  and  help  others: 
it  is  the  way  to  happiness  and  that  even  better 
thing — sweet  content. 

I  came  near  to  her,  and  paused  irresolute, 
after  all.  My  first  impulse  had  been  to  catch 
her  to  me,  as  I  have  said:  then  it  came  upon 
me  that  she  was  sleeping,  and  so  must  not  be  dis- 
turbed. An  odd  mixture  of  thoughts  and  doubts 
prevented  me  from  doing  what  I  would  have 
liked. 

As  I  wondered  there,  she  awakened;  and,  see- 
ing me,  gave  out  a  small  startled  cry.  Then 
somehow  knowing  me  for  a  friend  (for  how  in 
that  half-light  could  she  really  have  recognised 
me?)  she  seized  my  coat  with  her  cold  fingers 
and  drew  me  close.  I  bent  down  to  hear  what 
she  was  saying,  and  guessed  the  whole  of  the 
story  from  one  heart-broken  word. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  and  my  heart !     Don't  cry— 


202  Honesty's  Garden 

don't  cry !  God  does  these  things,  and  He  knows 
best." 

The  very  ardent  desire  in  me  to  be  of  comfort 
to  her  conquered — despite  my  set  phrases.  What 
could  one  say  in  face  of  such  bitter  trouble? 
Honesty  stood  up,  and  for  a  moment  brave  blue 
eyes  met  mine:  then  she  rested  her  head  simply 
against  my  shoulder — whilst  my  arm  went  about 
that  poor  little  body,  shaken  by  the  tempest  of 
sorrow  within  it. 

It  had  been  a  forlorn  hope  for  them;  this 
coming  to  Brighton — the  nearest  seaside,  and  the 
smallest  fare.  But  the  blow  had  been  struck 
when  they  had  left  Carbridge;  it  had  been  too 
deadly  for  the  elder  woman  to  survive  it  long. 
I  heard  through  Honesty's  tears  a  story  of  pain 
bravely  borne;  of  ill-health  steadily  going  from 
bad  to  worse;  until  at  last  nothing  might  be 
done.  "  If  we  had  not  left  home  this  might 
never  have  been  " ;  so  ran  the  plaint.  "  We  were 
so  happy  there,  so  happy.  Perhaps  we  were  too 
happy." 

I  made  her  walk  with  me  along  the  Madeira 
Drive  and  let  her  tell  me  all.  Talking  did  her 
good;  she  grew  more  calm.  Little  by  little  I 
learned  the  fact  that  her  mother  had  passed  out 
of  Honesty's  life  only  within  the  week.  Brain 
fever,  exhaustion  brought  on  by  worry,  too  acute 
for   that  timid,  shrinking  nature;   by  fear  of 


Honesty's  Garden  203 

worse  things — fear  for  Honesty,  horrible  dread 
of  what  must  happen  when  the  last  of  their  little 
money  was  gone — brought  on  by  the  humiliation 
of  it  all;  by  the  shock  to  her  old-world  pride; 
by  semi-starvation — that  the  most  evil  day  might 
be  kept  away,  in  the  far  distance. 

"  And  I  could  do  so  little !  Oh,  it  is  terri- 
ble to  find  out  how  really  useless  one  is!  All 
my  grand  plans  went  tumbling  to  pieces.  I 
couldn't  earn  enough  by  my  typewriting  to 
even  pay  the  baker's  bill." 

"  Surely  you  might  have  tried  your  friends, 
Honesty.  You  might  have  given  them  a  chance 
of  helping  you " 

"  At  the  last  I  would  have  done  anything. 
But  it  was  only  when  it  was  too  late  that  I 
could  bring  myself  to  see  it  was  too  late.  Be- 
sides, we  have  few  friends,  and  those  are  poor. 
And  I  have  scorn  of  those  who  beg." 

She  drew  herself  away  from  me,  as  if  at  some 
inner  thought.  I  remembered  Billy's  accusa- 
tion. Is  it  possible  Honesty  thinks  this,  too? 
I  could  but  say,  lamely,  I  fear,  "  I  wish  you  had 
written  to  me.  I  wanted  to  help  you  so  badly. 
Do  you  know  that  the  old  home  is  waiting  for 
you?  That  was  why  I  bought  it;  in  the  hope 
that  very  soon  you  would  come  back  to  it. 
Won't  you  come  back?  " 

She  glanced  quickly  up  at  me  through   her 


204  Honesty's  Garden 

tears,  so  strange  a  look.  "  Do  you  ask  me  to 
come  back?  Do  you  think  I  could  ever  be 
happy  in  Carbridge  again?"  She  shook  her 
head.  "  No,  I  have  a  chance  at  last.  Of  course 
it  comes  now — and  not  when  it  might  have  meant 
so  much  more.  I  can  stay  here,  and  shall  be 
able  to  live.  That  is  all  I  really  want.  To  be 
near  her — as  near  as  I  can  be." 

I  saw  the  difficulties  ahead,  but  had  enough 
sense  to  remain  silent.  We  walked  along  into, 
the  maze  of  small  streets  about  Kemp  Town; 
and  presently  came  to  one  trying  to  be  more 
worthy  of  Brighton — in  a  rather  pretentious 
way.  I  saw  its  name  boastfully  lettered  on  the 
corner  house :  Over  Cliff  Gardens.  Truly  Billy 
and  I  might  have  searched  a  long  while  ere  find- 
ing this  solution  to  our  puzzle. 

I  told  Honesty,  before  we  parted,  how  I  had 
discovered  Paradise  Street  and  Billy:  seeking 
to  drive  away  sad  thoughts  I  made  the  little 
history  quite  cheerfully  romantic.  I  insisted  on 
an  early  meeting  for  this  morning  ...  we  went 
together  to  the  cemetery;  and,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, stood  hand  in  hand. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  understand  that  this 
last  and  worst  happening  had  practically  ended 
their  resources.  But  all  their  bills  had  been 
paid.  The  stubborn  pride  of  the  child  is  dread- 
ful— if  it  were  not  so  pitiful.     No  help  will  she 


Honesty's  Garden  205 

accept ;  indeed,  she  seemed  to  grow  colder  every 
minute,  more  distant.  Last  night,  when  she 
cried  against  my  heart  I  thought  it  would  all 
be  so  easy;  that  I  would  be  able  to  make  her 
understand  her  troubles  were  over.  There  was 
only  a  something  very  small  just  to  be  said,  or 
done.     It  appeared  to  be  almost  achieved. 

I  have  racked  my  brains  this  day  to  discover 
how  it  is  I  have  been  so  near  to  success;  and 
why  I  have  failed.  Clearly  there  needed  but 
one  more  touch;  it  appears  to  me  now  that  I 
ought  to  have  perceived  instinctively  the  neces- 
sary magic.  Honesty  is  drawing  away  from 
me.  I  am  losing  her  again;  and  this  time 
hopelessly. 

Not  that!  She  smiled  wanly  once,  I  re- 
member, when  I  spoke  of  Jock.  That's  the 
thing  I  want,  of  course !  Poor  soul.  Love  alone 
can  help  her — and  since  I  can  only  help  through 
Love  I  must  bring  Love  to  her. 

Her  scheme — her  "  chance  "  she  calls  it — is  to 
take  up  the  duties  of  a  sort  of  companion- 
manageress  to  a  big  boarding-house  on  the  front. 
She  has  duly  accepted  the  terms  offered !  a  home 
in  exchange  for  her  services.  Honesty  tells  me 
that  the  people  look  kind:  they  have  not  asked 
her  to  pay  anything;  indeed,  they  have  promised 
to  make  her  a  little  allowance  if  the  season  be 
a  good  one.     Poor   child,   I   think   once   more; 


206  Honesty's  Garden 

but  dare  not  suggest  Carbridge  again.  Sud- 
denly, however,  daylight  comes  to  me.  I  ask 
the  address  of  the  boarding-house;  it  is  always 
useful  to  know  of  places  of  this  sort,  I  explain. 
Then  when  Honesty  has  returned  to  goodness 
knows  what  kind  of  a  meal  at  the  Over  Clin0 
Gardens  lodgings,  I  set  forth  promptly  for  the 
King's  Road. 

There  are  ways  of  helping  even  stubborn 
people.  It  was  not  long  before  I  had  arranged 
matters  with  the  proprietress,  a  nice  woman 
with  a  terribly  worried  expression.  Her  light 
blue  eyes  were  so  suggestive  of  imminent  ner- 
vous breakdown  that  I  could  quite  believe  her 
statement  that  a  manageress  was  needed  in  the 
establishment.  She  spoke  quickly  in  agitated 
whispers.  "  Yes,  oh,  yes.  We  have  many  guests. 
They  are  really  not  exacting,  of  course ;  but  with 
so  many  other  things " 

Servants  were  continually  popping  in  and  out 
of  the  room  all  through  our  interview.  A  dozen 
times  came,  "  Excuse  me  one  moment.  I  am  so 
sorry,  but  this  house — "  Then  a  brief  con- 
sultation with  the  maid;  and  rapid  instruc- 
tions, then  a  return  to  me,  to  the  subject  in 
hand.  "  One  has  to  attend  to  the  business  so 
continually.  I  have  never  been  able  to  persuade 
any  one  else  to  give  their  minds  to  it.  But 
Miss   Dene   really   has  the  air   of  being   thor- 


Honesty's  Garden  207 

oughly  capable.  There  will  be  plenty  to 
do." 

"  That  will  help  her,"  I  said.  "  She  must  have 
no  opportunity  to  brood.  Let  her  be  as  busy  as 
she  likes,  and  pray  be  careful  not  to  let  her 
suspect  our  little  plot.  It  will  merely  be  neces- 
sary for  you  to  say,  at  the  end  of  the  first  week, 
that  she  has  been  so  useful  that  you  must  insist 
on  paying  a  proper  fixed  salary." 

"  It  shall  all  be  arranged,  Mr.  Swift,"  she 
interrupted,  "just  as  you  wish.  I  quite  under- 
stand." She  smiled  here  in  a  rather  odd  man- 
ner, I  thought.  "  Miss  Dene  can  come  in 
to-night,  if  she  will.     As  to  her  dress " 

I  suppose  I  appeared  rather  blank.  "  You 
had  better  leave  that  to  me,"  she  went  on, 
shrewdly.  "Good  clothes  will  be  imperative. 
She  is  in  mourning,  isn't  she?  Mourning  is 
rather  expensive." 

She  pondered  the  question  inwardly,  and 
whilst  thinking  of  clothes  her  attitude  of  worry 
considerably  lightened.  "  This  will  be  the  plan," 
she  presently  announced.  "  You  must  make  her 
an  advance,  and  I  will  take  her  to  the  best 
shops  to-morrow " 

"  She  would  never  permit  it,"  I  blundered  in. 
"  Don't  you  see " 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Swift.  It  is  perfectly 
easy.     You  make  Miss  Dene  an  advance.     Say 


208  Honesty's  Garden 

you  offer  her  fifty  pounds.  She  will  probably 
agree  to  accept  twenty  as  a  loan,  and  I  shall 
tell  her  at  once  that  there  will  be  a  salary,  and 
certain  engagement  for  the  season.  She  can 
repay  you  so  much  a  week  if  she  chooses." 

"  Excellent,"  I  agreed,  admiringly.  "  You 
think  of  everything  " ;  and  so  came  away  to  a 
quietly  satisfactory,  if  solitary,  lunch  at  my 
hotel. 

Afterwards  I  went  over  to  Newhaven  to  meet 
Aunt  Sophie  and  the  rest;  but  they  must  wait 
for  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men  "— 
exemplified  once  again !  My  little  plot  with  the 
boarding-house  lady  hab  come  to  nothing.  But 
first  of  all,  Aunt  Sophie. 

I  met  them  at  Newhaven,  and  we  all  had  a 
frantic  time  of  it  going  through  the  Customs. 
They  have  a  system  at  Newhaven — excellent  in 
theory,  diabolical  in  practice — of  arranging  all 
the  luggage  in  streets  of  numbers  about  the  floor 
of  the  Customs  House.  Then  one  simply  goes  to 
one's  "  street,"  stands  near  one's  box,  and  waits 
the  inspector.     That  is,  after  one  gets  in. 

The  inspector  asks  you  the  usual  question. 
You  give  the  usual  slightly  modified  truth.  He 
either  is  satisfied — or  he  is  n't.  In  the  latter 
case  you  are  asked  for  your  key,  and  your  box  is 
duly  rummaged. 

This  is  the  theory:  in  effect,  it  isn't  quite  so 
simple.  Other  passengers  seem  to  have  the 
knack  of  getting  that  inspector  away  from  the 
neighbourhood  of  your  box  just  as  he  is  next 
door  to  it.  They  seem  to  know  him:  he  is  ad- 
14  209 


210  Honesty's  Garden 

dressed  by  his  Christian  name — he  recognises 
them — and  promptly  removes  himself  to  their 
"  street"  It  is  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  least 
ere  he  works  back  to  you;  and  all  the  while 
you  are  trembling  lest  another  old  acquaintance 
should  appear  and  hail  him  off  elsewhere. 

Aunt  Sophie  chose  me  to  assist  in  this  pan- 
demonium. We  were  given  the  keys  and  left  to 
our  fate.  When,  after  half  an  hour's  conflict, 
we  emerged  pale  but  triumphant  from  the  Cus- 
toms, we  found  the  London  train  just  ready  to 
start. 

Gatherway,  who  really  might  have  helped, 
positively  did  nothing — except  get  Miss  Harri- 
son tea  and  bread-and-butter  and  do  stupid 
things  of  that  sort.  They  had  all  enjoyed  a 
most  delightful  crossing  and  there  was  no  need 
for  tea.  I  told  Gatherway  so;  but  he  merely 
swept  me  up. 

Eva  complained  that  the  sea  had  upset  her: 
consequently  she  annexed  Baillie — or  tried  to. 
I  had  to  be  dealt  with,  however;  and  I  can  be 
terribly  firm  on  occasion.  Eva  was  not  allowed 
to  do  it.  I  bundled  Aunt  Sophie  and  uncle  into 
the  carriage  in  which  the  little  minx  had  calmly 
settled  herself  with  Jock.  I  then  called  him 
out,  on  some  pretext  or  another — smoking,  I 
think — and  made  him  travel  with  me  as  far  as 
Lewes. 


Honesty's  Garden  211 

I  broke  it  to  him;  gently,  I  hope.  Of  course 
the  lad  was  dreadfully  concerned  to  hear  of 
Honesty's  great  loss.  He  appeared  quite  shaken, 
and  full  of  eagerness  to  comfort  our  poor  little 
girl.  I  tried  to  think  out  some  means  by  which 
I  could  reasonably  get  him  to  Brighton  with 
me.  We  neither  of  us  wished  to  let  the  others 
into  the  business ;  it  seemed  not  to  be  absolutely 
necessary. 

"  Look  here,"  said  I,  at  length,  "  this  must  be 
the  way  out  of  it.  We  are  already  in  the  wrong 
part  of  the  train  for  London;  and  in  the  right 
part  for  Brighton.  The  guard  told  me  not  to 
forget  to  change  at  Lewes.  Well — suppose  we 
do  forget?  " 

"  But  my  luggage?  " 

"  We  will  wire  from  Brighton  that  your  port- 
manteau is  to  be  put  in  the  cloak-room."  I  saw 
myself  as  a  very  Napoleon  of  organisers — for 
about  a  minute. 

Baillie  frowned  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 
After  briefly  surveying  the  passing  and  rather^ 
dreary  landscape,  he  remarked,  "  I  'm  thinking 
I  must  be  getting  home  to-night,  Swift.  I  will 
have  to  be  at  work  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock." 

"  There  is  a  train  leaving  Brighton  at  eight- 
thirty.  You  shall  catch  it  without  fail,  because 
I  shall  be  catching  it,  too." 

That  ought  to  have  settled  it.      "  I  do  not 


2i2  Honesty's  Garden 

think  I  will  dare  do  it,  Swift.  The  train  might 
very  well  be  late.  A  wee  bit  late  and  it  would 
be  enough."  He  added,  more  brightly,  "  Or 
maybe,  I  would  oversleep  myself." 

I  own  this  made  me  rather  short  with  him. 
"  Well,  I  naturally  thought  you  would  like  to 
see  Honesty  as  soon  as  you  could.  Still,  do  as 
you  deem  best  for  yourself." 

He  was  hurt.  "  It  is  n't  for  myself  I  will  be 
thinking.  My  ain  folk  expect  me  home  this 
night." 

There 's  a  modern  lover  for  you !  As  if  he 
could  n't  have  wired  to  his  "  ain  folk."  If  I 
were  in  love  with  Honesty,  nothing  short  of  wild 
horses  should  keep  me  from  her  at  this  juncture. 
I  would  get  to  her  somehow,  despite  wild  horses. 

"  Shall  I  bear  any  message  from  you  to  Miss 
Dene?  "  I  asked,  trying  hard  to  remain  patient. 
"  I  shall  see  her  directly." 

"  I  have  no  message  for  Miss  Dene  that  you 
could  not  give  better  as  coming  from  yourself, 
Swift,"  he  retorted  quite  ridiculously.  "  If  you 
will  tell  her  that  I  would  be  glad  to  write,  it  is 
likely  she  will  give  me  an  address."  After  that 
we  smoked  in  silence.  But  the  lad's  better 
feelings  finally  prevailed.  As  we  were  nearing 
Lewes,  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  knee,  and  said  in 
a  shamefaced  sort  of  way  "  Eh,  but  my  heart 's 
sore  for  the  lassie,  Swift.     It  is  dreadful  she 


Honesty's  Garden  213 

should  have  been  suffering — the  whiles  we  were 
taking  holidays." 

"  We  must  make  it  all  holidays  for  her  now," 
said  I. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  misdoubt  we  can  do 
that,"  he  answered  soberly.  "  Sorrow  dies  hard. 
She  had  no  one  else.     Think  of  it,  Swift." 

"Are  you  sure  there's  no  one  else?"  I  ques- 
tioned, to  give  him  a  lead.  He  jerked  his  pipe 
back  to  his  mouth,  and  puffed  forth  volumes 
more  eloquent  than  words.  I  caught  him  eyeing 
me  in  a  Scotch  inquisitive  way,  presently. 

However,  prudence  before  all  else.  Baillie 
must  get  out  of  the  smoking-carriage  at  Lewes, 
and  set  forth  to  find  the  others.  I  had  the  time 
to  spare,  so  went  up  the  platform  with  him. 
We  passed  Miss  Harrison  and  Gatherway,  not 
alone — but  giving  one  the  notion  that  they  would 
like  to  have  been.  Next,  we  discovered  Eva.  In 
fact,  she  was  looking  out  for  us. 

I  explained  matters  to  Aunt  Sophie,  who,  of 
course,  was  all  exclamations.  "  I  was  wonder- 
ing what  you  were  going  to  do  with  that  other 
house,  Mortimer,"  she  observed;  then,  fortu- 
nately for  me,  the  guard  blew  his  whistle. 

"  Jump  in,  sir,  going  on,"  he  cried  in  a  breath, 
reminding  me  of  Billy. 

Jock  jumped  in  and  settled  down  in  Eva's 
corner.     I  heard  her  whispering.     She  had  been 


214  Honesty's  Garden 

saving  it  for  him.  I  nodded,  and  waved  my 
hand;  then  returned  to  the  Brighton  part  of 
the  train,  making  mental  notes  that  Eva  must 
be  advised  to  leave  Baillie  alone.  She  must  n't 
interfere.  How  on  earth  can  I  be  a  genie  if 
she  's  going  to  upset  things? 

On  the  whole,  I  was  not  very  pleased.  Jock 
certainly  appears  inclined  to  take  it  all  for 
granted.  I  wonder  if  he  does  love  Honesty.  It 
looks  as  though  she  were  doing  all  the  loving 
now;  whereas  before 

That's  the  young  man  of  to-day!  I  believe 
he  would  put  a  football  match  before  any  other 
kind  of  match,  no  matter  how  pretty  and  de- 
sirable the  girl.  Everything  is  turned  round  in 
these  times.  All  the  stories  and  novels  I  used 
to  read  concerned  one  heroine  and  many  men. 
Modern  novels  make  it  the  other  way,  with  a 
vengeance.  Girls,  according  to  the  present-day 
novelist  (most  often  a  woman,  so  she  ought  to 
know — and  does  n't)  do  all  the  courting.  The 
Man  Hunters,  was  the  title  of  a  book  I  picked 
up  at  a  book-stall  only  this  week ;  and  I  wish  I 
hadn't.  The  audacity  of  the  theme  was  only 
equalled  by  the  treatment  of  it. 

I  got  to  Brighton  in  a  low  frame  of  mind, 
therefore.  I  met  Honesty  in  the  King's  Road. 
She  had  already  seen  the  worried  lady  who  keeps 
the    boarding-house.     It    soon    became    obvious 


Honesty's  Garden  215 

that  the  worried  one  had  not  been  discreet. 
Honesty  had  heard  of  my  visit;  had  asked 
shrewd  questions.  In  fact,  I  speedily  per- 
ceived that,  in  the  words  of  the  poet,  she  knew 
all. 

She  strongly  objected  to  my  harmless  little 
plot.  "  No  doubt  you  have  acted  with  the  best 
intention,  Mr.  Swift,"  she  announced,  with  some 
constraint.  "  But  you  must  think  very  poorly 
of  me  if  you  imagine,  for  a  moment,  I  can  accept 
such  charity.  Please  let  me  speak.  It  is 
charity,  and  you  know  it.  You  must  blame  my 
pride — false  pride,  if  you  like — but  I  will  not 
accept  charity  just  yet." 

"  You  are  a  little  unjust  to  me,  child " 

"  Ah,  forgive  me !  I  do  not  mean  to  be  un- 
just, and  I  know  I  have  much  to  be  thankful 
for."  She  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm  as  we 
walked,  then  quickly  drew  it  away.  "  It  is  a  pity 
that  I  should  be  so  wilful,  I  know;  but  I  have 
always  been  wilful." 

"  What,  then,  will  you  do?  " 

She  shrugged  her  little  shoulders  and  laughed 
piteously,  at  least  so  it  seemed  to  me.  The  night 
was  cool  after  the  rain;  autumn  was  very  pre- 
sent. "  I  must  make  other  plans,"  she  said,  after 
a  while.  "  I  shall  go  back  to  London — to 
Paradise  Street." 

"And  then?" 


216  Honesty's  Garden 

"  I  shall  try  to  get  such  a  place  there  as  the 
one " 

"  I  have  spoiled  for  you  here?  "  I  interrupted. 

"  You  have  n't  spoiled  it  for  me.  You  wanted 
to,  and  tried  to;  but  I  wouldn't  let  you."  She 
smiled  at  memory  of  Paradise  Street.  "  I  shall 
be  all  right  there,"  she  added,  as  I  read  her 
thoughts. 

"  You  will  have  some  one  at  Paradise  Street 
who  loves  you,"  said  I,  jealously. 

She  glanced  at  me,  just  such  a  look  as  I  had 
noted  before.     "  You  mean  Billy?  " 

"  Euphemia  Felicia  Jubilee,"  I  corrected  her. 
This  time  her  laughter  had  a  better  ring.  "  Now 
come  with  me,  and  we  '11  have  a  little  supper- 
party  all  to  ourselves  at  a  place  I  know  of.  We 
will  talk  over  ways  and  means." 

"  Ways,"  she  interposed ;  "  only  ways,  please. 
I  must  be  independent." 

"  Means  shan't  be  given  a  chance,"  I  promised. 
"  We  won't  even  hint  at  means."  I  remembered 
to  ask  her  again  about  the  typewriting.  "  Have 
you  given  that  a  fair  trial?  " 

"  Gracious,  yes !  And  I  type  rather  well,  too. 
That  dear  little  chap  at  Wright's  taught  me  so 
cleverly." 

"  It  was  his  pleasure  and  privilege " 

"  So  he  always  declared.  .  .  .  Did  I  tell  you 
that  once  I — crept  back  to  Carbridge?    It  was 


Honesty's  Garden  217 

when  we  were  at  Paradise  Street.  I  saw  our 
house  was  sold,  and  I  asked  a  child  in  the  road 
who  had  bought  it."  She  drew  in  her  breath, 
and  I  did  not  dare  to  speak.  Presently  she  went 
on  about  the  typewriting.  "  All  the  typing 
schools  cut  one  out.  Pupils  pay  to  be  taught, 
and  practise  on  the  manuscripts  sent  in  to  the 
schools.  They  can  afford  to  type  at  sixpence  a 
thousand  words,  and  type  really  decently.  Is  n't 
it  awful?" 

"  Awful  every  way,  I  expect.  But  how  about 
becoming  lady  typist  to  some  firm?  Plenty  of 
people  can  do  with  a  really  capable  girl 
secretary." 

"  Are  there  such  posts  and  such  people? " 
inquired  Honesty,  doubtfully.  "  Or  are  you 
inventing  both?  " 

"  I  could  n't  be  half  so  brainy,"  I  told  her. 
"  Here  's  the  restaurant.  Come  along,  and  we  '11 
find  a  quiet  table."  She  hesitated,  but  event- 
ually agreed  to  pass  before  me  through  the  door- 
way. The  too-obliging  waiter  soon  put  us  at 
ease ;  and,  as  it  was  still  early,  we  had  the  place 
practically  to  ourselves. 

I  ventured,  very  carefully,  to  commence  the 
hatching  of  yet  another  plot.  I  recollected  my 
cousin,  Harry  Duveen.  (I  expect  you  have  for- 
gotten him  utterly;  although  I  told  you,  at  the 
end  of  Chapter  III.,  that  he  was  prospering  ex- 


218  Honesty's  Garden 

ceedingly  at  something  to  do  with  shoes,  in  a 
village  near  Bath. )  Why  should  n't  Harry  Du- 
veen  want  a  lady  typist?  If  I  can  only  get 
Honesty  safely  to  Paradise  Street  without  sus- 
pecting anything,  she  can  remain  there  rent  free, 
since  I  have  paid  Mrs.  Jolliman  in  advance  for 
my  room.  Behold  me  a  Machiavelli.  I  do  hope 
I  shall  bring  this  conspiracy  to  a  better  issue.  I 
shall  run  down  to  Bath  during  the  week ;  I  shall 
make  Harry  see  that  his  triumphs  are  incom- 
plete, his  prosperity  unframed,  as  it  were,  so 
long  as  he  is  without  a  lady  typist.  I  shall 
coax  his  little  wife  to  help  me;  she  will  under- 
stand the  case  when  I  have  explained  it  to  her. 
Perhaps  she  won't — still  I  '11  try,  all  the  same. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Honesty  has  been  safely  convoyed,  with  her 
few  poor  belongings,  to  Paradise  Street,  and 
Billy  is  in  a  seventh  heaven.  Memory  of  that 
queer  little  thing's  unaffected  delight  at  the  re- 
covery of  Honesty  is  something  worth  treasuring. 

I  cannot  altogether  understand  Baillie.  He 
went  with  me  to  meet  Honesty  at  Victoria  on 
Monday  night,  because  I  made  him;  but  he 
would  n't  come  on  to  Clapham.  He  had  some 
excuse  or  another,  and  I  felt  very  uncomfortable, 
as  I  had  evolved  a  variation  in  my  schemes, 
whereby  Honesty  and  he  were  to  be  left  alone  in 
a  compartment  of  the  train  whilst  I  smoked.  I 
did  manage  to  leave  them  at  Victoria  for  a  bit, 
under  pretence  of  getting  the  tickets;  but  I 
found  them  on  my  return  still  talking  stiffly  to 
each  other  on  the  draughty  platform.  In  the 
end,  we  had  to  waste  Jock's  ticket,  and  go  on  by 
ourselves  to  Clapham  Road.  Then  we  took  a 
double-decked  tram  to  Paradise  Street,  for  a 
halfpenny  each — which  certainly  made  up  for 
the  preliminary  extravagance. 

219 


220  Honesty's  Garden 

Billy's  parent  was  grappling  with  a  headache 
(probably  in  the  nasty  little  public-house  at  the 
corner),  so  that  I  was  able  to  introduce  Honesty 
in  quite  my  own  wray.  Both  those  dear  crea- 
tures, Mrs.  and  Miss  Jolliman,  were  as  joyful 
as  myself  at  the  meeting,  and  Honesty  was  not 
permitted  to  cry,  even  for  appearance'  sake.  Of 
course  she  must  needs  "  arrange "  with  Mrs. 
Jolliman  about  the  rent  of  the  room,  and  I 
allowed  her  to  settle  it  in  her  own  fashion. 
Mrs.  Jolliman  was  in  my  plot,  as  I  had  taken 
care  to  write  a  small  note,  which  I  slipped  into 
Mrs.  J.'s  hands  whilst  Billy  and  Honesty  were 
engaged  for  a  minute  or  two  in  some  astound- 
ing learned  discussion  concerning  Billy's  new 
clothes.  Thus,  I  am  continuing  my  career  of 
deception,  and  am  vastly  enjoying  it. 


I  have  framed  an  advertisement  for  to-morrow 
morning's  newspaper.  The  answer  will  come  to 
Honesty  quite  naturally  from  Bath!  What  a 
diplomatist  the  world  has  lost  in  me.  Why  was 
I  ever  "  took  literary  "?  I  am  sure  I  could  have 
done  better  at  an  embassy,  or  even  in  the  secret 
service. 

I  am  able  to  record,  however,  that  the  Little 
Marvels  are  behaving  well.  Their  sales  have 
been  most  satisfactory,  and  Gatherway  has  posi- 


Honesty's  Garden  221 

tively  forwarded  me  a  cheque.  Not  a  cheque  for 
a  large  amount,  mind  you.  This  must  be  (so 
far  as  I  am  concerned)  a  modest  and  reliable 
chronicle.  It  is  only  in  the  realms  of  fancy  that 
people  become  rich  in  a  moment  as  the  proper 
reward  of  their  efforts  or  abilities.  In  real  life 
fortune  is  not  hasty.  She  takes  her  time,  and 
has  been  known  to  come — too  late. 

You  must  not  cherish  delusions  about  authors 
and  editors.  They  work  just  as  hard  as  most 
men,  and  often  harder.  They  're  none  the  worse 
for  it.  The  best  work  in  this  world  has  usually 
been  achieved  by  the  hardest-worked  man  or 
woman.  Reflection  will  soon  supply  you  with 
proof  of  this.     Take  yourself,  for  instance. 

Meanwhile,  I  will  get  along  with  my  business 
— which  now  brings  me  to  Bath  Station,  on  the 
Great  Western  Railway.  You  must  please  dis- 
cover me  waiting  for  the  stopping  train  to  Bris- 
tol, by  which  I  intend  journeying  to  the  small 
village  where  my  cousin,  Harry  Duveen,  does 
something  weird  and  wonderful  with  shoes. 

While  I  wait,  behold  Harry  himself.  He  is 
like  Eva,  only  different  and  bigger.  I  mean  if 
you  knew  Eva  you  would  recognise  Cousin 
Harry.  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  and,  as  I  have 
hinted,  fortune  is  not  lagging  behind  him.  He 
has  acquired  some  touch  of  the  Somerset  mel- 
lowness of  tone,  and  contour.     He  is  delighted 


222  Honesty's  Garden 

to  see  me,  and  so  full  of  a  really  amazing  ma- 
chine for  making  hooks  for  eyes — I  should  say, 
eyelets — that  I  cannot  anyhow  coax  our  con- 
versation towards  typewriters.  He  is  also  going 
to  St.  Keynes,  having  arranged  a  most  import- 
ant afternoon's  business  in  Bath.  From  some- 
thing he  lets  slip,  I  half  suspect  that  the  business 
was  partly  connected  with  the  new  fishing-rod 
which  he  is  carrying.  In  the  stopping  train  the 
hook  machine  prevails  over  all  other  topics;  it 
rules  them  with  statistics,  technicalities,  and 
highly  complex  descriptions.  "  Suppose  my 
finger  is  the  valve.  Well,  it  bobs  up  and  down 
just  like  this,  whilst  the  hooks  are  settling  to- 
wards the  bottom  of  the  feed.  See?  Then  the 
valve  lets  'em  through  in  two  streams,  one  at  a 
time;  and  natural  gravitation  takes  'em  down 
two  slots,  where  they  slide  out  comfortably  into 
two  kind-of-scissor  things  which  the  man  holds. 
See?  The  man  clips  the  scissor-things  together 
soon  as  they  're  full,  and  catches  the  points  close 
and  tight,  so  that  the  hooks  are  all  one  way  up, 
and  can't  move.     Then  he  passes  them  over " 

"  The  scissors  or  the  hooks?  " 

"Both;  they're  all  in  one  piece  now — see? 
Another  chap  collars  hold  of  the  scissors  that 
are  full.  First  man  turns  to  fill  another  pair. 
Second  man  whips  the  heads  of  the  hooks  flush 
under  the  press,  slips  the  sheet  of  celulloid  over 


Honesty's  Garden  223 

them,  all  colours,  you  know.  We  do  eyelets  for 
any  kind  of  shoes,  slippers,  or  boots.  Stays, 
too.     We  have  a  huge  corset  factory  at  Bath." 

"  Don't  shatter  all  my  ideals,  Harry :  I  don't 
want  to  know  how  stays  are  made,  or  that  they're 
made  at  all." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  '11  get  back  to  the  hooks.  The 
press  is  steaming  hot;  can't  bear  to  touch  it 
hardly.  Down  it  comes  on  the  hooks — bang !  " 
His  hand  falls  on  his  knee  with  a  resounding 
slap,  and  the  other  passengers  turn  to  glance  at 
us.  They  recognise  Harry,  and  smile  and  nod. 
He  shouts  out  various  greetings  to  all  and  sun- 
dry; has  an  answer  for  every  one.  Temporarily 
the  hooks  are  left  under  the  press,  thoroughly 
banged.  As  we  near  St.  Keynes  I  get  a  chance, 
at  last.  The  subject  is  brought  before  the 
House.  We  only  get  as  far  as  a  first  reading 
of  the  Bill,  and  Cousin  Harry  is  doubtful  as  to 
whether  we  shall  carry  it  any  further.  Even  if 
we  pass  it  through  Committee,  there  is  still  a 
House  of  Lords — Cousin  Harry's  little  wife! 
He  fears  she  won't  in  any  way  approve  a  lady 
typist;  more  especially  a  young  lady  typist. 

That  being  the  situation,  behold  me  a  master 
of  tactful  persuasion.  Harry  admits  he  wants 
help  in  the  office ;  that  the  clerical  work  is  really 
beginning  to  bother  him.  "  We  sent  out  over  a 
million  eyelets  last  week,  my  boy,"  he  declares, 


224  Honesty's  Garden 

"  and  when  the  hook  machine 's  in  full  going 
order,  we  shall  do  a  million  of  them  as  well. 
Yes,  I  could  do  with  somebody  extra,  and  a  good 
handy  girl  would  be  all  right;  especially  if 
she  could  take  the  correspondence.  You  see, 
I  have  to  give  so  much  time  to  the  practical  part 
of  it;  keeping  touch  with  the  details — thinking 
out  new  patents  and  improvements " 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  I  interrupt,  fearing  a 
recrudescence  of  the  "  hook  "  machine.  "  You 
would  find  Miss  Dene  invaluable,  I  know.  She 
is  a  most  capable,  excellent  girl,  and  very  quick. 
As  regards  emolument " 

"  Oh,  I  would  give  her  a  pound  a  week  at 
the  start,"  says  Harry,  instantly.  "  And  she 
could  '  dig '  down  at  Connor's.  They  have  a 
nice  room  they  might  let,  and  the  lass  would  n't 
be  lonely." 

"  Do  try  and  arrange  it  for  me,  Harry,"  I 
beg,  delighted  at  this.  Connor  I  remember  very 
well;  a  nice  man,  working  with  the  chocolate 
people  in  Bristol.  I  know  the  house,  by  the 
side  of  the  little  river  that  runs  through  St. 
Keynes  into  the  Avon.  Honesty  would  be  com- 
fortable with  Mrs.  Connor,  a  most  homely, 
motherly  woman.  "  I  should  like  to  make  the 
necessary  arrangements  with  the  Connors,"  I 
add,  over-anxious  to  do  my  best. 

Harry  Duveen  gives  me  a  queerish  sort  of 


Honesty's  Garden  225 

look.  "  This  Miss  Dene  's  a  protegee  of  yours, 
Mortimer,  it  seems?  " 

"  She  is  a  poor  child  in  whom  I  am  very  much 
interested/'  I  tell  him.  "  I  am  hoping  she  will 
not  have  to  stay  long  as  Miss  Dene;  in  fact  I 
am  tolerably  sure  your  wife  need  have  no  alarm 
for  you."     I  laugh,  but  Harry  shakes  his  head. 

"  I  'm  afraid — "  he  is  starting,  when  I  inter- 
pose. I  give  him  briefly  a  notion  of  the  case; 
explain  Baillie,  and  the  rest  of  it.  Of  course,  I 
don't  say  anything  about  my  own  little  final 
scheme  of  returning  Honesty  to  her  garden. 
That  somehow  is  a  climax  which  must  be  re- 
served as  a  climax.  It  may  need  all  the 
engineering  I  can  command,  and  I  don't  even 
understand  hook-machines  yet,  notwithstanding 
Harry's  picturesque  description  of  them. 

We  arrive  at  St.  Keynes.  Harry  regards  me 
as  a  rather  soft-hearted,  easily-imposed-on  crea- 
ture— if  he  does  n't  think  worse.  I  suppose  it 
does  sound  absurdly  philanthropic,  and  yet  to 
me  it 's  perfectly  natural  that  I  should  want  to 
help  Honesty.  Supposing  she  were  an  old 
woman,  or  anybody  but  Honesty  herself,  should 
I  then  be  so  ready  to  appear  unselfish?  I  am 
helping  Honesty,  because  I  like  doing  it.    There ! 

I  am  sentimental.  I  must  confess  it.  Inside 
my  pocket-book,  pressed  between  the  leaves,  is 
a  little,  withered  flower — a  columbine,  that  has 


226  Honesty's  Garden 

to  stand  fv.r  remembrance.  I  have  been  unsenti- 
mental for  so  many,  many  years;  and  directly 
Honesty  has  been  made  happy  I  will  be  as  crusty 
and  fusty  and  disagreeable  again  as  any  one 
may  desire. 

So  we  come  into  St.  Keynes,  and  call  at  the 
factory  on  our  way  to  Cousin  Harry's  house. 
Everything  at  the  factory  is  soon  found  to  be  in 
order,  for  which  I  am  glad — the  smell  of  cam- 
phor being  a  trifle  too  pronounced  even  for  one 
who  really  rather  likes  it.  Harry  explains  it  is 
the  celluloid  that  makes  the  atmosphere  so  pun- 
gent, and  protests  that  he  has  never  had  one 
of  his  people  away  with  cold  yet.  "  They  simply 
can't  catch  anything  while  they  're  in  my  factory. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  lot  of  the  villagers  come 
here  to  be  cured.  Whenever  I  drop  in  sud- 
denly I  generally  find  one  or  two  of  them 
standing  about  the  doorway,  pretending  they 
have  business." 

"  You  have  a  good  many  girls  employed  here, 
have  n't  you?  " 

"  Upstairs ;  so  they  can't  be  the  attraction." 

Harry  shuts  the  door  of  the  camphory  place 
carefully  behind  him.  "Come  along;  I  expect 
you  're  starving."  I  note  he  has  left  the  fishing- 
rod  behind  in  his  small  office.  I  admit  that, 
whilst  not  exactly  expiring  for  want  of  food,  I 
could  still  do  with  a  mouthful.     "  Let  us  hope 


Honesty's  Garden  227 

there  will  be  more  than  that,"  laughs  Harry,  as 
we  trudge  up  the  street.  "  Had  rare  doings 
down  here  since  I  last  saw  you,"  he  presently 
instructs  me.  "  First  of  all  we  have  had  a 
regular  stand-up  fight  with  the  traction  com- 
pany, who  nearly  rushed  us  into  allowing  their 
trams  through  from  Bristol  to  Bath." 

"  Would  n't  trams  be  rather  convenient  for 
St.  Keynes?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  of  course !  That 's  just  the 
trouble.  We  should  have  the  place  full  of 
Bristol  riff-raff  in  a  jiffy.  Then  rows  of  cot- 
tages; then  streets  of  'em  ever  growing.  Then 
Bristol  would  reach  out  one  of  its  dirty  paws 
and  rake  us  in!  St.  Keynes  would  become  a 
suburb — and  that 's  always  the  end  of  indi- 
viduality and  everything  else  worth  talking 
about." 

"  Any  other  doings?  "  I  did  n't  want  to  press 
Honesty  too  much.  I  was  fairly  satisfied  with 
my  progress  up  to  this  point. 

"Anything  else?  I  should  think  so!"  He 
sinks  his  jolly  voice  to  a  whisper  which  you 
could  hear  the  length  of  the  street.  "  The  White 
Lady  's  been  at  it  again." 

"  The  White  Lady?  " 

"  Walking  all  night,  swishing  her  petticoats 
about  the  corridors;  tapping  on  the  windows; 
carrying  on  just  as  though  she  owned  the  whole 


228  Honesty's  Garden 

show.  Maude  's  been  crazy  about  her ;  swears 
she  won't  stay  in  the  house  a  minute  longer  than 
she  can  help.  I  said,  '  You  must,  my  dear. 
This  village  is  our  living.  It's  good  style  to 
run  a  ghost,  especially  a  lady  ghost.'  No  use 
my  arguing,  though.  *  Either  that  woman  goes, 
or  I  do,'  vows  Maude.  It  positively  came  to 
that." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  That  was  last  month,"  grins  Harry,  cheer- 
fully. "  The  White  Lady  had  the  sense  to  per- 
ceive that  Maude  meant  it.  Moreover,  it 's 
beginning  to  be  chilly  of  nights ;  our  White  Lady 
has  returned  to  warmer  climes.  We  have  heard 
nothing  of  her  for  three  weeks ;  and  we  hope  for 
the  best.  There  is  Maude  at  the  gate,  looking 
out  for  me.  She 's  wondering  who  the  dickens 
I  have  brought  with  me,  and  whether  the  cold 
mutton  will  make  enough  for  three ! " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

The  House  of  Lords  is  considering  the  Bill, 
but  has  already  added  so  many  amendments, 
that  I  begin  to  doubt  whether  the  faithful 
Commons  (Honesty  and  her  pride)  will  accept 
the  situation.  I  almost  believe  the  Bill  will  be 
lost,  after  all. 

Dear  me,  what  a  duffer  I  am  in  this  affair! 
One  would  think  it  easy  enough  to  help  another 
person  if  one  tried;  but  it  isn't  easy  to  help 
Honesty. 

However,  I  can't  keep  running  about  the 
country  like  this,  and  neglecting  my  sacred  sub- 
editorial  duties,  in  order  to  achieve  a  series 
of  ridiculous  failures.  I  must  settle  Honesty; 
and  insist  on  her  being  happy 

It 's  all  very  well  to  tell  people  they  must  be 
happy  whether  they  will  or  not.  It  can't  be 
done;  and,  remembering  the  terrible  loss  the 
poor  child  has  sustained,  I  am  a  brute  to  expect 
her  to  take  much  interest  in  life  just  at  present. 
I  sometimes  try  to  think  what  it  must  be  like  to 
have  lost  your  home,  and  then  your  very  dearest 

229 


230  Honesty's  Garden 

friend  in  all  the  world.  I  do  so  wish  I  could 
comfort  her;  but  I  see  that  only  time  can  do 
that. 

I  had  the  oddest  dream  last  night,  through 
listening  to  gossip  anent  the  White  Lady,  con- 
tributed by  Harry  and  his  little  wife  after  a 
somewhat  heavy  supper.  I  ought  to  be  thank- 
ful it  was  no  worse  than  a  dream:  these  Somer- 
set Duveens  are  so  hospitable,  and  eat  so  heartily 
themselves,  that  one  is  forced  to  slightly  exceed 
the  limit,  out  of  sheer  etiquette! 

Dreams  are  foolish  things  at  the  best,  and  I 
am  not  superstitious,  so  I  will  only  outline  the 
strange  fancy  that  held  my  sleeping  thoughts 
last  night.  I  was  in  Paradise  Street,  and  it  was 
summer  still,  but  very  hot  and  uncomfortable. 
Billy  was  swinging  herself  between  the  poplar 
trees,  and  eyeing  me  with  disdain.  In  some 
way  I  was  in  her  bad  books.  "  You  ought  to 
know,"  she  was  saying ;  and  each  time  the  swing 
brought  her  within  striking  distance  she  kicked 
out  towards  me  a  small,  vicious  foot.  "  You, 
with  your  conceit  and  all."  I  found  myself 
absurdly  anxious  to  explain  that  it  was  n't  my 
fault,  whatever  it  was;  but  she  only  went  on 
swinging.  "  I  hope  you  '11  be  sorry  for  it,"  con- 
tinued this  vision  of  Miss  Felicia  Jubilee  Jolli- 
man,  angrily;  "I  hope  she'll  come  and  haunt 
you  for  the  rest  of  your  days !     I  hope  she  '11  tap 


Honesty's  Garden  231 

on  the  windows  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  frighten 
you  into  a  million  billion  fits ! "  Again  I  tried 
to  speak,  but  my  tongue  seemed  horribly  tied 
up  in  my  mouth.  "  I  hate  you  and  I  hate  your 
old  books.  You  took  away  her  garden,  you  did. 
You  're  worse  than  Hire  Purchase  and  Promis- 
sorory  Note,  you  are.  Oh,  don't  I  just  hate 
you !  "  She  swung  herself  furiously.  "  You  '11 
hear  her  creeping  along  the  corridors:  al- 
ways coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and  yet  never 
coming  at  all.  That  '11  pay  you  out.  Steal- 
ing her  home  and  stealing  her  heart;  and  all 
for  a  lot  of  cripples!  You  and  your  cripples, 
indeed !  " 

Surprise  so  much  got  the  better  of  slumber 
that  I  nearly  woke  up.  Then  my  memory  flashed 
to  my  brain  that  once  Jones  had  said  something 
about  the  vicar  of  Carbridge  wanting  Honesty's 
home  for  a  play-house  for  little  cripples !  I  had 
scarcely  given  the  remark  attention  at  the  time 
— yet  here  it  was  fully  crystallised  by  Billy  into 
a  grievance  against  unfortunate  me ! 

Odd  that  my  dream  should  make  Billy  so 
ferocious.  Queerer  still  that  phrase,  "  stealing 
her  home,  and  stealing  her  heart."  But  dreams 
are  supposed  to  be  only  incoherent  workings  of 
a  tired  brain;  senseless  repetitions  and  varia- 
tions of  things  heard  during  the  day.  As  I  sat 
in  the  early  train,  homeward  bound  from  St, 


232  Honesty's  Garden 

Keynes,  I  plainly  saw  that  the  White  Lady  had 
influenced  this  nightmare. 

It  was  a  nightmare  too.  At  the  end  of  it 
Billy  had  appeared  to  literally  swell  with  rage. 
As  she  swung  ever  higher  and  nearer,  she  had 
seemed  to  grow  and  grow — until  I  was  threat- 
ened by  a  literal  giantess,  an  overpowering  fury 
who  meant  to  exterminate  everything  in  her  way. 
I  was  quite  helpless;  presently  she  would  be 
able  to  sweep  me  up  even  more  thoroughly  than 
Gatherway  in  his  happiest  moments.  I  was  the 
man  in  the  story  of  "The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum" 
— you  haven't  forgotten  that  eerie  masterpiece 
of  Poe's? 

However,  just  as  that  Juggernaut  of  a  swing 
was  on  its  last  downward  journey,  swooping  to 
crush  me  to  atoms,  I  made  the  effort  and — woke! 
It  was  still  dark,  and  being  in  a  strange  room, 
I  found  myself  positively  upset.  All  sorts  of 
weird  noises  sounded  about  the  house:  really  it 
required  very  little  imagination — and,  presto! 
one  had  the  White  Lady  in  full  sail ! 

The  country  was  very  beautiful,  I  thought,  as 
we  skimmed  through  it  this  morning.  Bathamp- 
ton  to  Chippenham  is  a  charming  little  bit  of 
England,  and  typical,  too.  Then  Swindon,  with 
its  maze  of  lines,  its  workshops,  and  all  those 
multitudinous  engines  of  all  ages  and  conditions 
standing    about    everywhere.     Poor    rusty    old 


Honesty's  Garden  233 

ghosts  (ghosts  again!)  of  bygone  days,  repre- 
senting the  then  pinnacles  of  somebody's  ambi- 
tion: the  dernier  cri  in  engines — so  soon  to  be 
at  their  own  dernier  cri.  I  saw  in  my  mind  the 
blithe  inventor — Harry  Duveen  and  his  hooks 
put  it  in  my  head,  I  suppose — joyfully  regarding 
the  great  improvement  he  had  achieved;  telling 
the  tolerant  shades  of  old  George  Stephenson 
and  Timothy  Hackworth  just  where  they  had 
been  wrong,  just  where  they  had  stopped  short; 
and  then  the  blithe  inventor,  a  shade  as  well, 
frowningly  regarding  another  generation  busy 
perfecting  totally  different  types  of  locomotive 
engines. 

My  hand  here  for  all  time,  thinks  man — and 
lo!  the  invention  is  obsolete  even  while  he  lives. 
Or,  if  he  performs  an  actual  miracle,  one  that 
shall  survive  all  years,  such  as  the  pyramids 
or  the  sphinx — then  the  work  annihilates  the 
worker,  and  his  name  is  lost  yet  more  completely. 

So,  poor  rusty  triumphs  of  an  hour,  be  grate- 
ful that  you  are  not  on  the  scrap-heap !  Exposed 
as  you  are  to  all  weathers,  still  you  do  exist 
tangibly.  It  is  yours  to  see  the  proud  "  com- 
pound "  leviathan  humming  by  you ;  and  it  may 
be  yours  to  welcome  him  later  to  the  siding  near 
your  own — where,  in  turn,  you  shall  both  see 
some  electrical  monstrosity  performing  feats  un- 
dreamed of  in  your  brief  epochs. 


234  Honesty's  Garden 

Progress — progress!  Which  reminds  me  that 
of  all  old  slowcoaches  you  must  be  deeming  me 
the  most  intolerable. 

I  had  a  busy  morning  of  it  at  the  offices  of 
the  Colosseum.  We  have  news  of  Burnaby:  a 
rumour  as  to  his  whereabouts  has  reached  Scot- 
land Yard,  we  are  informed.  Consequently  we 
are  all  agog,  and  my  clerk  Carr  can  scarcely 
contain  his  feelings.  "  We  don't  want  him,  any- 
way," he  permits  himself  to  observe.  "  Fancy 
Mr.  Burnaby  back  here  again !  "  He  added,  with 
fervour,  "  I  don't  fancy  it  at  all,  sir — and  that 's 
the  flat,  downright  truth." 

"We  shall  never  have  such  another  editor," 
said  I. 

"  It 's  to  be  hoped  not,"  he  catches  me  up. 
"  Of  course,  I  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  he 
goes  on,  condescendingly.  "  And  what  Mr.  Bur- 
naby did  n't  know  in  the  literary  way  was  n't 
worth  knowing.  But,  my  eye,  he  was  a  hard 
nut  to  crack." 

I  offer  no  opinion  on  this  delicate  point,  and 
so  Carr  has  to  get  back  into  his  own  particular 
shell  best  way  he  can — a  difficult  feat,  palpably. 
He  is  simply  packed  with  recollections  of  our 
late  editor — he  is  a  popcorn  only  needing  the 
warmth  of  encouragement  to  burst  out  in  all 
directions.  Carr  would  be  slapping  me  on  the 
back  and  calling  me  "  Old  Sport,"  in  half  a 


Honesty's  Garden  235 

jiffy.  I  know  Carr;  and  much  as  I  like  the  lad, 
I  must  endeavour  to  keep  him  normal  at  this 
juncture. 

You  would  say  that,  living  the  better  part  of 
his  life  in  an  atmosphere  of  heavy  and  respon- 
sible literature,  Carr  must  be  necessarily  a 
heavy  and  responsible  clerk ;  a  youth  who  would 
think  in  classics,  and  who  must  inevitably  talk 
informingly,  scientifically,  and  with  nice  appre- 
ciation of  the  value  of  an  epigram.  You  would 
figure  Carr  as  pale  of  visage,  meagre,  with  a 
slight  stoop,  may  be;  his  every  thought  a  chap- 
ter, his  dress  lambskin  slightly  spotted,  no  date ; 
his  glance  a  publisher's  announcement.  You 
would  be  utterly  out  of  it  in  every  respect. 

Things  happen  in  this  way.  The  most  likely 
person  is  always  in  the  most  unlikely  spot.  My 
Undertaker  is  the  kind  of  lad  you  would  expect 
in  the  offices  of  the  Colosseum;  and  you  would 
expect  in  vain.  Carr  would  be  most  suitable 
for  Messrs.  Wright  and  Co. ;  he  would  impart  a 
lively  and  piquant  air  to  the  business  of  house- 
letting  and  valuing.  On  the  smallest  encourage- 
ment Carr  would  blossom  forth  into  a  check 
suit  and  one  of  those  soft,  impossible  hats — 
distinguished  some  years  back  by  the  name  of 
Trilby.  His  chubby,  happy,  lightly-come-and- 
still-more-lightly-go  nature  would  be  admirable 
in  an  auctioneer. 


236  Honesty's  Garden 

I  quite  agree  with  Carr,  however,  as  regards 
Burnaby.  Frankly,  I  don't  want  him  to  be 
taken  by  Scotland  Yard.  I  want  to  still  have  a 
tiny  sort  of  hope  at  the  back  of  my  mind  that 
he  did  n't  do  it,  after  all ;  that  he  will  come  back 
one  of  these  days  and  explain  everything.  More- 
over, I  am  comfortable  here  as  sub-editor ;  I  have 
a  free  hand,  and  truly  delude  myself  with  the 
idea  that  the  Colosseum  is  n't  so  bad  even  under 
its  new  direction.  The  advertising  manager 
seems  satisfied,  and  that's  a  fairly  promising 
sign. 

When  I  got  home  to-day  Carbridge  appeared 
a  very  delightful  place.  The  small  wriggling 
river  is  full,  and  by  the  bridge  the  water-lilies 
are  blooming  yet.  Autumn  is  upon  us,  though : 
we  may  well  have  an  early  frost  one  of  these 
mornings;  then,  alas  for  the  gardens.  I  am 
always  so  sorry  for  the  dahlias;  they  are  so 
easily  knocked  over — one  day  full  sap  and  arro- 
gance ;  next  day  "  boiled  "  and  hideous.  There 
is  no  fight  in  a  dahlia ;  even  the  geranium  makes 
a  better  show.  Some  good  roach  have  been  taken 
just  above  the  water-splash,  so  I  learn.  I  don't 
seem  to  get  a  chance  with  a  rod  now. 

Honesty's  garden  is  presentable,  thanks  to  the 
Undertaker.  I  surprise  him  busy  at  the  verges, 
and  he  blushes  quite  painfully,  with  shears  sus- 
pended in  action.     "  Good-evening,  sir." 


Honesty's  Garden  237 

I  nod,  as  I  come  up  to  him.  "  The  garden 
does  you  great  credit,"  I  announce. 

"  Miss  Jones  has  been  good  enough  to  render 
considerable  assistance,"  the  Undertaker  admits 
at  once.  "  I  venture  to  hope  that  your  gardens 
compare  very  favourably  with  others  in  this  dis- 
trict." He  surveys  his  work  with  pride.  "  The 
sweetbriar  hedge  needs  trimming,  but  one  has 
to  be  very  prudent  with  sweetbriar." 

He  means  that  he  does  not  wish  to  cut  it, 
because  he  knows  Honesty  used  to  let  it  grow 
pretty  much  as  it  would.  "  The  perennials  are 
excellent,"  I  observe,  moving  slowly  about  the 
garden.  "  Astonishingly  beautiful  that  late 
phlox.  And  the  golden-rod — that's  a  jolly 
good  sort,  you  know.  I  wonder  where  Mrs. 
Dene " 

I  break  off,  suddenly.  I  was  going  to  say: 
"  I  wTonder  where  Mrs.  Dene  got  it.  I  must  ask 
her."  And  the  Undertaker  guesses  exactly  how 
I  should  have  ended  a  thoughtless  remark.  He 
says  nothing,  and  I  am  glad  of  his  silence.  He 
is  a  nice  boy ;  a  tactful  boy. 

"  Miss  Jones  gave  me  instructions  that  Miss 
Dene  had  come  to  London,"  he  mentions,  in  his 
usual  manner.  "  She  instructed  me  as  to 
Miss  Dene's  sad  bereavement.  May  I  be  so 
bold  as  to  ask  kindly  after  Miss  Dene's  health, 
sir?" 


238  Honesty's  Garden 

"  She  is  fairly  well,  I  think.  Of  course,  she 
has  had  a  very  terrible  experience — has  suffered 
an  irreparable  loss."  I  turn  to  the  Undertaker, 
and,  facing  him,  can  find  myself  able  to  speak 
in  less  stilted  language.  I  am  sure  of  his  sym- 
pathy and  interest  in  our  subject.  "  We  must 
do  the  best  we  can  to  help  her,"  I  say.  "  We 
must  try  to  show  her  that  it  is  n't  irreparable 
— that  she  must  n't  think  of  it  like  that.  It 's 
— it 's  the  least  we  can  do,"  I  end,  lamely. 

He  is  busy  at  the  verges  again.  He  clips  and 
snips  mechanically  a  while;  then  in  the  middle 
of  an  especially  penetrating  snip  pauses  to  ask, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  Do  I  understand  that  Miss  Dene 
will  be  returning  to  her  home?  " 

"  I  can't  say.  I  wish  I  knew,"  I  answer.  "  I 
don't  see  what  I  'm  to  do  with  the  property, 
if  she  doesn't." 

He  appreciates  the  word  "  property."  It  is 
food  and  drink  to  him.  He  recovers  promptly, 
eloquently.  "  The  Home  is  certainly  a  most  at- 
tractive and  desirable  property,  sir."  He  stands 
up,  and  waves  the  shears  with  emphasis.  "  It 
comprises  a  perfect  bijou  residence  of  convenient 
size,  with  an  excellent  garden,  well  laid  out  and 
mature.  The  pleasure  grounds,  indeed,  are 
quite  extensive,  and  in  a  high  state  of  cultiva- 
tion. Carbridge  is  splendidly  positioned  amidst 
absolutely    rural    surroundings;    it    is   a   most 


Honesty's  Garden  239 

picturesque  village,  unspoiled  by  trams,  and 
surrounded  by  large  estates  with  park-like 
lands."  He  draws  breath  and  fresh  inspiration 
together.  "  One  might  easily  erect  a  neat  motor 
garage;  and  then,  in  view  of  the  unobtrusive 
adjacence  of  the  railway,  one  would  have  a 
residence  comprising  every  advantage." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  I  can't  live  in  two 
houses,"  I  argue,  repeating  my  own  mental 
conclusions  of  some  time  back. 

"  You  can  live  on  this  estate,  sir — and  let 
your  own,"  he  suggests ;  forgetting  that  they  're 
both  my  "  own."  "  I  could  find  you  a  tenant 
immediately  "  (what  a  boy  for  his  trade!) ;  "  in 
fact,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  you  can  have 
an  exceptional  tenant  at  practically  a  minute's 
notice " 

"  Yourself?  "  I  interrupt,  jokingly. 

"  No  less  a  person  than  our  vicar,"  he  an- 
nounces, solemnly;  and  waits  to  enjoy  my 
surprise.     "  The  vicar  of  Carbridge,  himself." 

"  Oh !  does  he  think  of  moving,  then?  I  had 
no  idea." 

"  Not  for  a  vicarage,  of  course.  The  Haven, 
although  very  eligible,  would  hardly  be  adapted 
for  a  vicarage."  The  shears  gently  but  firmly 
deprecate  the  suggestion.  "  No,  sir — the  vicar 
has  other  views.  He  has  long  wished  to  rent 
one  of  these  two  residences,  in  connection  with 


240  Honesty's  Garden 

his  scheme  for  the  welfare  of  crippled  child- 
ren." 

The  cripples  again!  The  second  time  to-day. 
First,  in  a  dream;  and  now  in  dignified  and 
portentous  reality! 


CHAPTER  XXV 

The  advertisement — Honesty's — has  duly  ap- 
peared, and  we  have  only  to  wait  for  the  shoals 
of  answers.  I  sent  a  marked  copy  of  the  morn- 
ing's paper  to  Harry  Duveen,  and  expect  the 
decision  of  the  House  of  Lords  hourly.  I  have 
asked  him  to  advise  me  by  the  same  post  as  he 
writes  to  Honesty;  so  that  I  may  be  aware  of 
the  precise  shape  into  which  Maude  Duveen  has 
knocked  my  Bill  for  the  Secret  Assistance  of  an 
Unhappy  Little  Spinster. 

I  have  also  taken  the  liberty  of  sending  Carr 
over  to  Paradise  Street  with  a  spare  typewriter 
from  the  office,  so  that  Honesty  may  keep  in 
practice.  The  machine  is  one  on  which  I  have 
a  reversion,  as  a  matter  of  fact;  therefore  do 
not  think  I  am  following  in  Burnaby's  footsteps, 
on  however  so  small  a  scale.  We  have  lately 
taken  up  new  machines  from  one  of  the  ring  of 
firms,  and  this  particular  instrument  was  to  go 
in  part  payment,  but  they  offered  so  ridiculous 
a  discount  that  I  said  I  would  take  the  type- 
writer myself  for  half  as  much  again. 
16  241 


242  Honesty's  Garden 

The  person  who  had  control  of  the  matter 
being  Me,  you  can  perceive  the  arrangement 
easily  made,  and  Carr,  later  on  in  the  morning, 
sallying  forth  Claphamwards.  He  takes  the 
typescript  of  the  Alfred  book,  with  my  altera- 
tions (or  rather  Gatherway's  impudent  inter- 
ferences) complete — and  Honesty  can  have  no 
objection  to  executing  the  order.  Carr,  indeed, 
is  to  wait  for  the  first  sheets,  and  has  been  im- 
pressed with  the  belief  that  I  'm  in  the  dickens 
and  all  of  a  hurry  for  the  lot. 

I  have  made  a  note  to  ask  Honesty  about  that 
story  of  Baillie's  which  turned  out  to  be  mine; 
and  why  she  played  such  a  trick  upon  me.  I 
mean  to  have  a  full  and  satisfactory  explanation, 
in  order  that  she  may  know  I  can  be  a  tartar 
when  I  choose. 

I  have  been  touching  up  some  shorter  pieces 
I  had  by  me,  and  taking  stock  of  my  manuscripts. 
I  found  some  quite  saleable  efforts  amongst  those, 
and  forwarded  them  to  my  agent — a  most  de- 
lightful fellow,  who  relieves  me  of  many  of  the 
bothers  attaching  to  literature  as  a  profession. 

The  Colosseum  work  alone  comes  direct  from 
my  pen;  all  and  sundry  of  my  other  attempts 
go  through  the  agent.  He  first  introduced  me 
to  Gatherway,  and  the  introduction  has  ripened 
to  a  friendship,  as  you  know.  All  the  same,  I 
allow  the  commission  of  ten  per  cent,  on  returns 


Honesty's  Garden  243 

from  the  Little  Marvel  series  to  my  agent — > 
because  it 's  only  fair. 

Thus  you  will  see  that  I  am  painfully  upright 
in  business,  and  that  I  approve  of  literary 
agents.  I  must  admit  I  am  specially  favoured 
in  this  direction. 

Fortune  has  been  capriciously  kind  latterly. 
Some  positively  ordinary  little  stories  of  mine 
have  sold  for  nice  prices,  so  I  can  afford  to  send 
Honesty  the  typewriter,  and  also  enjoy  the  lux- 
ury of  running  two  houses.  Particularly  as  one 
is  empty! 

Jones  is  pestering  me  for  an  autumn  spring 
clean  of  the  Home;  I  suppose  the  place  is  a  bit 
dusty  after  being  locked  up  so  long.  It  is  not 
damp,  for  Jones  goes  in  every  day  to  open 
the  windows  and  light  an  occasional  fire.  The 
grandfather  clock  in  the  hall  has  been  kept  going 
ever  since  Baillie  and  I  started  it  that  day. 

Baillie  has  been  to  Paradise  Street,  but  did  n't 
stay  long.  He  is  such  a  nervous  fellow  with 
women.  He  gives  me  the  notion  that  he  is  afraid 
of  Honesty,  and  I  can't  watch  him  as  I  used,  in 
that  small  mirror  opposite  the  window. 

The  Comedy  of  Love  I  called  those  morning 
encounters — dear  me,  how  long  ago  it  seems! 
Here  we  are  thinking  about  early  frosts  and  the 
like,  and  coals  have  long  since  risen  from  the 
abject  depths  of  their  lowest  summer  prices ! 


244  Honesty's  Garden 

Fortune  has  been  capricious,  I  was  saying— 
this  being  a  way  of  leading  round  to  the  recital 
of  a  strange  adventure  which  came  to  me  whilst 
Carr  was  gone  with  the  typewriter. 

It  was  in  Farringdon  Street,  mid-day.  I  had 
just  gone  there  for  a  prowl  after  lunch,  in  case 
any  rare  and  astounding  bargains  might  be 
blushing  unseen  on  the  bookstalls.  Few,  how- 
ever, are  the  prizes  which  slip  through  the  clever 
— if  somewhat  grimy — hands  of  the  Farringdon 
Street  dealers.  Yet  even  the  wisest  amongst  us 
are  caught  napping,  now  and  then,  and  hope 
springs  eternal  in  the  bookworm's  breast. 

It 's  fine  hunting  for  the  minor  poets.  I  have 
rescued  some  charming  and  wonderful  books  of 
verse  from  the  stalls  in  Farringdon  Street;  first 
editions  galore. 

This  unintelligent  age  seldom  encourages 
poets  to  the  attainment  of  a  second  impression : 
flashy,  trashy  novels  run  into  their  thousands 
(at  least,  so  their  publishers  assure  us),  while 
the  genius  of  the  fine  art  of  words  has  to  be 
content  with  a  circulation  chiefly  amongst  his 
friends. 

It  is  intensely  pathetic  to  me  to  see  all  those 
books  jumbled  up  together  on  the  Farringdon 
Street  stalls;  once  I  found  one  of  my  own — a 
novel  which  I  thought  really  quite  epoch-making 
when  I  wrote  it.     The  gentleman  had  priced  it 


Honesty's  Garden  245 

at  sixpence;  which  soothed  my  outraged  vanity 
(for  sixpence  is  a  top  price  in  Farringdon 
Street),  until  he,  perceiving  me  handling  it, 
shouted  across  the  barrow,  "  Thrippence,  guv'nor 
— there  you  are!  Must  sell  out  to-day  some 
>ow!" 

I  bought  a  History  of  England  from  this  par- 
ticular dealer  some  years  back,  offered  at  two- 
pence a  volume.  There  were  thirteen,  and  he 
put  them  in  at  two  shillings.  Other  finds  I 
have  had;  and  to  watch  the  buyers  raking 
through  these  dust-heaps  of  literature  is  most 
amusing.  I  asked  my  especial  fellow  how  busi- 
ness might  be,  and  he  gave  a  witheringly  scorn- 
ful glance  towards  the  small  crowd  jostling 
at  the  front  of  his  barrow :  "  Plenty  turning 
of  'em  over,  guv' — that's  'ow  we  do  biz  now-a- 
days ! " 

I  joined  the  throng,  and  was  allowed  presently 
to  get  through.  Having  bought  a  nice  little 
volume  of  verse  called  Story  and  Song  for  a  few 
pence,  I  dug  more  vigorously  into  the  rows  of 
books  staring  so  appealingly  heavenward  from 
the  stall.  I  discovered  one  of  the  suppressed 
Bohns  next;  and  acquired  that  also — patting 
myself  on  the  back  for  having  got  in  front  of 
another  purchaser  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  This 
was  a  man  in  seedy  clothes  and  a  three  weeks' 
beard,  who  wore  a  cap  pulled  down  over  his 


246  Honesty's  Garden 

eyes.  He  favoured  me  with  a  savage  stare;  and 
— I  recognised  Francis  Burnaby! 

Surprise  kept  me  silent.  He  edged  away ;  but 
plainly  desired  me  to  follow.  We  moved  to  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd,  walked  sharply  towards 
the  Clerkenwell  Road,  one  behind  the  other,  In- 
dian fashion.  In  the  comparative  seclusion  of 
Clerkenwell  Road  I  came  abreast  of  him. 

"  Jump  on  this  next  tram — quick !  " 

I  obeyed,  scrambling  to  the  top,  at  his  heels. 
"  I  thought  I  might  meet  you,  Swift — that  's  the 
truth."  He  shrewdly  noted  the  other  pas- 
sengers. "  Don't  look  so  scared,  I  ?m  not  the 
plague." 

"  I  thought  you  had  left  England — "  I  was 
beginning. 

"  I  hope  many  others  share  that  childlike  be- 
lief," he  interrupted,  in  the  impatient  manner 
I  knew  so  well.  "  It  is  not  easy  to  get  out  of 
this  confounded  country  at  any  time,"  he 
added,  frowning;  "especially  when  one  hasn't 
the  key  which  opens  all  doors.  No,  I  have  been 
hanging  about  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  Like 
myself,  in  short." 

"  What  shall  I  do  for  you,"  I  asked  him 
simply,  "  now  that  we  have  met?  " 

"  You  can  tell  me  things,  first  of  all.  That 
is,  unless  conscience  prompts  you  to  call  the 
next  policeman.     No,  I  don't  think  that  of  you, 


Honesty's  Garden  247 

Swift.  I  have  never  thought  any  worse  than 
to  class  you  among  the  glorious  company  of 
Sentimentalists.  I  have  lain  in  wait  for  you  in 
Farringdon  Street  for  many  days.  You  see,  with 
all  my  cleverness,  I  did  n't  manage  it  quite  nicely." 
He  drew  attention  to  his  miserable  appearance 
with  a  careless  gesture.  "  Henry  had  what  was 
left;  he  was  lawyer  to  the  last — even  with  his 
brother.  Curious,  your  spying  that  Bohn;  it 's 
scarce  and  a  nice  copy." 

I  offered  it  to  him,  at  which  he  laughed.  "  No, 
thanks!  I  won't  rob  you  again."  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders  in  very  cynical  style.  "  I  merely 
thought  of  it  as  a  possible  means  of  getting 
shelter  for  to-night." 

"  Burnaby ! " 

"  Hush — for  God's  sake !  What  a  fellow  you 
are ! "  Again  he  peeped  furtively  at  the  other 
passengers.  Then  he  laughed  once  more.  "  I  'm 
frightened  of  my  shadow,  let  alone  my  name. 
It 's  awful  to  have  to  hate  your  own  name, 
Swift;  something  more  than  an  experience. 
Well,  what  do  they  say?  What  have  they 
done?  " 

"  Have  n't  you  seen  the  papers?  " 

"  Oh,  the  papers !  Does  any  one  pay  any  at- 
tention to  them?  I  suppose  they  still  have  faith 
in  the  papers — in  Brixton!  Hal  got  away;  I 
suppose  they  know  that?    He  started  first." 


248  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Your  brother  is  supposed  to  be  in  Val- 
paraiso." 

"  Wonderful,  wonderful,  and  yet  again  won- 
derful; and  after  that — out  of  all  whooping! 
Henry  is  in — but  why  should  I  give  him  away, 
even  to  you?  Suffice  it  that  I  must  join  him, 
or  starve,  or  be  caught.     Which  you  like." 

"  It  does  n't  rest  with  me,"  I  said,  quietly. 

"  No?  Listen,  Swift.  You  can  give  me 
money,  and,  now  that  the  hue  and  cry  is  over, 
I  shall  be  able  to  escape.  I  have  my  plans,  and 
they  are  sound.  Who  would  have  thought  of 
hiding  in  the  shade  of  the  Old  Bailey?"  He 
chuckled,  grimly.  "  Only  a  practised  criminal 
could  have  seen  that  there  was  the  safest  place 
in  all  the  world!  And  the  police  are  looking  in 
the  suburbs,  in  the  '  likely '  spots — for  a  booky 
man,  a  respectable,  bald-headed,  middle-class 
fool  who  has  just  unfortunately  overshot  the 
mark."  He  favoured  me  with  a  sidelong  glance. 
u  You  always  knew  I  was  a  criminal,  Swift?  " 

"  It  hurts  me  most  to  hear  you  talk  like  this," 
I  told  him  then,  amidst  the  jolt  and  noise  of 
the  traffic. 

"  I  was  sure  salvation  would  come  to  me 
through  you,  Mortimer.  You  still  believe  in  me, 
bless  your  soft  and  simple  heart!  You  are  say- 
ing, most  unwisely,  within  yourself.  '  There  ?s 
good  in  that  man  yet.     He  '11  pull  up ;  turn  over 


Honesty's  Garden  249 

a  new  leaf.'  Of  course,  I  like  to  agree  with  your 
tender  faith  in  mankind ;  it  is  part  of  my  scheme 
to  make  you  imagine  all  these  vain  things.  But 
I  find  that  I  prefer  to  be  brutal.  I  have  others 
depending  on  me." 

'"  The  papers  hinted  at  that,"  I  remarked 
drily. 

"  Lies !  "  he  snapped.  "  But  they  might  have 
told  other  lies.  I  'm  not  going  to  put  all  the 
blame  on  Hal,  though.  Perhaps  you  did.  Well, 
I  'm  not  that  kind  of  beast  yet.  Hal  was 
knocked  down ;  and  I — tripped  over  him.  There 
you  have  the  gist  of  it." 

He  accepted  my  silence  as  tribute  to  his  old 
sway  over  me.  In  truth  I  had  already  forgotten 
the  shabby  clothes,  the  three-weeks'  beard. 

*  Who  knocked  him  down  does  n't  matter,"  he 
went  on,  lightly.  "  Possibly  some  poor  wretch 
running  away  from  another  equally  poor;  who, 
in  turn —  But  why  worry  as  to  prime  causes? 
We  can  trace  everything  back  to  the  serpent,  if 
we  wish.  It  takes  all  sorts  of  components  to 
make  a  man;  all  conditions  of  men  and  women 
to  make  a  nation — all  types  of  nations  to  con- 
stitute what  we  call  the  world.  Hal  and  I  are 
the  units  that  don't  stay  in  the  right  places; 
the  normal  cells  that  wilfully  become  abnormal 
— cancerous.  So,  at  the  end  of  it,  I  don't  even 
excuse  myself,  you  see.     I   merely  point  out, 


250  Honesty's  Garden 

unpleasantly,  that  I  exist — and  that  an  operation 
is  necessary." 

Poor  wretch,  indeed,  to  have  come  to  such 
arguments  as  these!  I  needed  no  argument, 
however;  he  might,  at  least,  have  credited  me 
with  that.  I  gave  him  what  he  asked,  willingly ; 
and,  for  the  sake  of  old  times,  wished  him  good 
luck.  Also  I  made  him  take  the  Bohn — it  was 
a  nice  copy,  as  he  had  said,  and  I  thought  it 
would  amuse  him  on  his  long  journey,  and  help 
to  keep  him  away  from  his  thoughts.  He  smiled, 
then :  "  Sure,  Swift,  you  are  the  dearest  old 
— woman  alive !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

It  is  all  over  with  the  Bill  for  the  Secret 
Assistance  of  an  Unhappy  Little  Spinster.  The 
faithful  Commons  can't  possibly  accept  the 
amendments  embroidered  thereon  by  the  Hered- 
itary House. 

All  my  little  plots  seem  to  come  to  worse  than 
nothing.  I  shall  never  make  a  thoroughly  suc- 
cessful conspirator.  Maude  Duveen  was  an 
easy  match  for  me.  Any  single  one  of  her 
amendments  would  have  wrecked  my  Bill;  and, 
the  annoying  part  of  it  is,  they  're  most  of  them 
utterly  and  perfectly  reasonable,  and  just  what 
I  might  have  expected. 

So  I  leave  Cousin  Harry  to  his  hooks  and 
antiquated  methods  of  book-keeping.  If  he 
won't  have  the  excellent  opportunity  I  offer — 
well,  he  won't,  and  there 's  no  more  to  be  said. 

Honesty  has  accepted  the  typewriter,  on  the 
understanding  she  can  pay  for  it  in  instalments. 
I  said,  "  Very  well,  a  penny  a  day  for  a  thousand 
years !  " 

Billy  Jolliman  instantly  commenced  to  cal- 
251 


252  Honesty's  Garden 

culate.  "  You  '11  have  to  pay  over  fifteen  hun- 
dred pounds  that  you  will,"  she  chirped,  being 
present  at  our  interview — for  the  sake  of  pro- 
priety. We  were  in  Honesty's  room  (or  mine, 
rather — if  she  only  knew).  "It's  a  swindle 
don't  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  's  paying  rather  dearly  for  the 
convenience,"  Honesty  agreed. 

"  Make  it  a  penny  a  week  and  then  it  '11  be 
near  two  hundred  and  twenty,"  continued  the 
lightning  calculator.  "  You  better  buy  his  old 
typewriter  right  out,  Miss  D.,  or  else  let  father 
get  you  one.    He  knows  where  to  get  'em  cheap." 

"Talking  of  typewriters,"  said  I,  to  change 
the  subject;  and  satisfy,  while  I  recollected  the 
matter,  a  natural  curiosity,  "  Do  you  know  that 
I  have  discovered  the  author  of  that  story  you 
typed?  " 

Honesty  smiled  faintly — I  could  see  she  was 
nervous,  and  felt  meanly  glad.  "  I  hope  you 
gave  him  a  good  notice?  That  usually  fol- 
lows a  discovery  in  the  literary  world,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  The  notice  comes  first,"  I  decided ;  "  and  then 
the  discovery.  However,  we  '11  keep  to  the  point, 
if  you  please.  That  story  was  mine;  and  you 
knew  it.  Kindly  explain  what  you  meant  by 
pretending  it  was  n't." 

"  Oh,  but  I  did  n't.     Surely  I  only  asked  you 


Honesty's  Garden  253 

to  look  at  the  typing?  "  She  coloured  so  pain- 
fully that  I  hastened  to  adopt  an  easier  tone. 

"  Tell  me  how  you  chanced  upon  the  thing. 
That 's  the  mystery  I  cannot  solve." 

She  owned  at  once  she  had  seen  the  story  in 
the  Reaper;  that  the  Reaper  in  question  had 
come  to  her  as  gusty  litter  from  the  Jonesian 
bonfire.  "  I  wanted  some  easy  way  of  telling 
you  that  I  must  work.  I  didn't  know  how  bad 
matters  were  then.  I  hoped — mother  hoped  we 
might  win  through,  somehow."  She  choked  a 
little  at  that  thought.  "  One  can't  understand 
right  off  that  the  worst  has  happened.  At  least, 
I  could  n't.     It  seemed  so  utterly  impossible." 

"  The  worst  never  happens,  my  dear,"  I  said, 
gently.  "  I  have  learned  that — if  I  have  learned 
nothing  else." 

She  flashed  a  quick  glance  at  me.  "  Don't  you 
think  the  worst  has  happened?  Don't  you  see 
I  have  nothing  to  live  for — now?  Nothing — 
nothing." 

"  Time  will  prove,"  I  answered.  "  There  are 
other  folk  who,  perhaps,  would  like  you  to  live, 
even  if  only  for  their  sakes.  And  we  must  not 
think  of  those  who  are  gone  from  us — quite  in 
that  way.  We  must  not  imagine  them  unhappy, 
my  dear.  That  would  be  to  give  up  hope  all 
round,  wouldn't  it?  The  one  common  creed 
held  by  humanity  all  over  this  little  earth  as- 


254  Honesty's  Garden 

serts  the  contrary.  We  know  our  dear  ones  to 
be  happy;  surely  we  know  that?  It  isn't  fair 
to  pretend  to  believe  anything  else."  I  took  her 
hand,  "  And  as  for  the  living — well,  you  will 
always  find  that  something  compensates." 

Billy  perceived  this  to  be  her  cue;  or,  very 
probably,  was  tired  of  being  silent.  "  Tell  us 
about  that  story,"  she  commanded,  imperiously. 
"  Was  it  about  adventures  and  all  that?  Or 
only  about  love-making  stuff?  " 

Honesty  drew  her  fingers  from  mine,  as  we 
both  laughed.  She  replied  to  our  young  in- 
quirer :  "  There  were  some  adventures  in  it, 
Billy,  of  course.     Even  lovers  have  adventures." 

"  Silly  ones,  then.  I  don't  care  for  that  sort. 
Was  it  about  lovers?  " 

The  question  was  addressed  to  me,  and 
could  n't  be  shirked.  "  There  was  a  girl  in  it," 
I  admitted. 

"What  kind  of  girl?  Like  her?"  She  in- 
dicated Honesty. 

"  Much  better,"  I  untruthfully  announced. 

"  Then  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about 
it,"  declared  my  candid  little  friend.  "  She  's  " 
— her  gesture  embraced  Honesty  utterly — "  good 
enough  for  me." 

"  Thank  you,  dear."  Honesty  moved  to  where 
Billy  sat  cross-legged  in  her  chair,  displaying  a 
considerable  quantity  of  striped  stocking.     The 


Honesty's  Garden  255 

child  put  out  her  arms.  "  He  don't  know  much, 
after  all — does  he?  "  Billy  remarked  scornfully. 
"  Fancy  them  letting  him  write  stories !  He 
can't  reckernise  a  pretty  girl  when  he  sees  one." 

"  Did  n't  I  recognise  you?  "  I  demanded.  But 
she  was  too  engaged  with  Honesty  to  grant  me 
even  a  hearing. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  with  my  Alfred 
book?  "  I  asked  Honesty,  when  she  had  emerged 
from  Billy's  comprehensive  embrace. 

"  I  hope  to  finish  it  by  to-morrow,  or  the  day 
after.  "  I  '11  show  you — "  She  sprang  to  her 
feet  again,  and  hastened  to  fetch  the  typescripts 
— hers  and  the  original — from  the  table  in  the 
window.  I  pretended  to  go  very  carefully 
through  them.     "  Capital." 

"  Really,  and  truly  capital?  Or  only  because 
I  did  it?  " 

"  From  both  points  of  view.  I  have  plenty 
more  work  for  you,  but  first  of  all  I  want  you 
to  take  a  little  holiday.  What  do  you  say  to 
spending  the  day  with  me  next  Sunday?  " 

She  lifted  a  doubtful  glance  towards  me, 
her  impulse  being  to  say  "  No."  I  was  not  go- 
ing to  let  her  even  think  no,  however.  "  Yes, 
Sunday  next ;  and  I  '11  meet  you  both  at  the 
station " 

"  Me,  too? "  The  pig-tail  whisked  front  to 
back  anxiously. 


256  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Of  course.  I  shall  take  you  for  a  walk  along 
the  river,  and  show  you  our  lions — then  home 
to  dinner  at  the  Haven.  Sunday  afternoon  we  '11 
take  quietly,  we  old  people.  Billy  can  read,  or 
talk  to  Jones,  or  make  a  pie  for  our  suppers." 

"  Would  your  Jones  let  me  make  a  pie?  " 

"  She  will  let  you  do  anything,  if  you  make  a 
fuss  over  her  cat.  He's  a  wonderful  animal — 
not  beautiful,  perhaps,  so  much  as  wonderful." 

"What  does  he  do?"  Billy  was  deeply  in- 
terested. 

"Jones  will  tell  you.  His  name  is  Keedels, 
and  he 's  a  bit  of  a  rip — according  to  my  mind. 
If  ever  a  cat  deserved  to  have  headaches  in  the 
morning " 

"  Oh,  they  're  just  nothing !  Father  he  has 
headaches  in  the  morning  sometimes  but  that 's 
only  because  he 's  worried  at  the  office."  Billy 
always  gets  slightly  "  comma-less  "  when  speak- 
ing of  her  male  parent.  She  is  on  the  defensive 
instantly.     I  can  understand  why. 

Mr.  Jolliman  hardly  improves  on  acquaint- 
ance. I  am  prejudiced  against  him,  that 's  the 
fact.     He 's  so  openly  selfish. 

I  should  admire  him  for  having  the  courage 
of  his  convictions;  but  I  don't.  However, 
Honesty  dismisses  all  unpleasant  reflections  by 
saying  that  she  will  be  delighted  to  come  to 
Carbridge  next  Sunday. 


Honesty's  Garden  257 

My  busy  brain  plans  to  get  Baillie  to  the 
Haven  that  same  Sunday  afternoon.  Then  I 
shall  affect  to  want  a  nap,  and  the  young  folk 
can  have  a  gossip  all  to  themselves.  Jones  will 
look  after  Billy;  or  I  will,  if  necessary. 

I  am  not  satisfied  with  Honesty's  explanation 
of  the  story  incident.  Why  didn't  she  tell  me 
right  out  it  was  mine?  Certainly,  I  ought  to 
have  known.  Women  are  strange  creatures — 
it 's  useless  trying  to  understand  them. 

But — occasionally — I  think  they're  rather 
nice,  especially  when  they  know  how  to  look 
pretty.  And  it  isn't  necessary  to  understand 
them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  who  understands 
himself — or  wants  to?  There  are  millions  of 
things  more  interesting  to  do,  and  one  is  never 
much  wiser  for  self-examination.  Only  bewil- 
dered.    Or  ashamed.     Or  enraged! 

For  instance — on  my  way  back  to  Clapham 
Station  I  pass  a  small  dirty,  second-hand  fur- 
niture and  oddment  shop.  There  are  some  posi- 
tively grimy  books  on  a  shelf  in  the  window, 
priced  absurdly  above  their  value.  I  study  them 
closely,  being  always  on  the  look-out  for  a 
bargain,  and  knowing  by  experience  that  one 
must  n't  expect  to  come  across  bargains  every 
day.  They  are  to  be  found  in  the  most  unlikely 
places,  let  me  tell  you — when  they  are  in  the 
shape  of  books.     I  bought  once,  in  a  bookseller's 


258  Honesty's  Garden 

in  Holborn — an  important,  imposing  shop — a 
copy  of  the  House  of  Pomegranates  for  eight- 
and-six-pence — in  the  limited  and  only  authentic 
edition.  The  work  was  published  at  fifteen  shil- 
lings net,  so  the  bookseller  ought  to  have  been 
on  the  qui  vive;  and  at  the  moment  I  bought 
the  copy  it  was  worth  fully  two  pounds.  Now 
three  would  n't  buy  it — but  let  us  return  to  the 
second-hand  furniture  shop. 

I  saw  a  queer  little  edition  of  the  Compleat 
Angler,  of  no  great  value,  but  very  charming. 
So  in  I  walked,  like  the  fly  into  the  spider's  web. 
A  very  shabby,  dusty  web  it  was,  too.  The 
spider  pounced  out  in  due  course,  and  declined 
to  part  with  the  little  "  Walton  and  Cotton  " — 
until  I  had  parted  with  many  arguments  and 
two  whole  silver  shillings.  I  was  just  leaving 
the  shop  in  disgust,  when  a  rather  shoddy  bureau- 
cabinet  at  the  back  attracted  my  notice.  On  its 
shelves  were  the  usual  Dutch  candlesticks,  cop- 
per-lustre jugs  and  mugs  (probably  direct  from 
Birmingham)  ;  one  or  two  pieces  of  old  blue,  and 
a  few  odd  plates  of  Mason's  ironstone  china.  A 
very  hotchpotch. 

The  spider  remarked  my  interest,  faint  as  it 
was,  and  skilfully  increased  it :  "  Nice  bit  of 
old  Dresden  there,"  he  opined. 

"  Where?  "  I  asked,  roused  at  once. 

"  In    that    bureau.     That 's    an    odd    bit    of 


Honesty's  Garden  259 

furniture,  too ;  though,  mind  you,  I  'm  not  say- 
ing it 's  old.  I  don't  really  know  what  it  is,  so 
can't  pretend  to  say.  I  don't  believe  it 's  old  at 
all." 

The  way  these  wretches  talk !  You  have 
heard  them,  if  you  happen  to  be  a  collector,  for 
your  sins.  They  never  can  "  pretend  to  say." 
They  're  invariably  doubtful,  referring  the  point 
to  you — as  one  who  understands.  They  wilfully 
disparage  an  article,  just  to  hear  what  you  '11 
say.  They  know  then  precisely  how  little  you 
know. 

"  It  appears  quite  modern  to  me,"  I  remarked, 
with  indifference. 

"  I  daresay — very  likely.  We  all  get  had 
sometimes."  The  spider  seemed  about  to  weep, 
this  being  one  of  the  melancholy  species. 
They  're  the  worst,  beware  of  them.  "  But 
that  little  sugar  basin 's  all  right,  no  doubt 
about  that.  It 's  a  lovely  little  bit.  I  '11  get  it 
for  you." 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble ;  I  'm  not  a  likely 
buyer " 

"  No  trouble  at  all,  sir ;  I  'd  like  you  to  look 
at  it."  He  crossed  to  the  bureau  (which  I  will 
swear  had  n't  left  Wardour  Street  more  than  five 
minutes),  and  opened  the  badly  hung  glass  doors 
of  the  cabinet  above.  He  raked  out  a  couple  of 
Mason  jugs,  a  smashed  black  Wedgwood  tea- 


260  Honesty's  Garden 

pot,  a  few  pieces  of  china  which  he  was  pleased 
to  designate,  complimentarily  and  comprehen- 
sively, as  "  Oriental."  Then  he  produced  from 
the  back  somewhere  a  queer  little  sugar-basin, 
with  a  lid  to  it,  and  a  dish  to  go  underneath. 

It  was  (and  is)  a  pretty  little  piece  of  hard 
paste,  although 

But  that's  to  anticipate.  On  the  top  of  the 
lid,  by  way  of  handle,  is  a  rose-bud;  one  or  two 
of  its  petals  very  slightly  chipped.  The  design 
is  quartered  in  four  panels  on  each  piece;  two 
egg-shell  blue — with  flowers  upon  the  dark 
ground ;  two  dead  white,  with  Watteau  subjects. 
These  repeat,  as  I  say,  on  the  outside  of  the 
basin  and  on  the  surface  of  the  round  dish;  but 
each  white  panel  shows  the  shepherd  and  shep- 
herdess in  a  different  scene,  although  generally 
in  graceful  attitudes  of  mutual  adoration. 

It  i-s,  appropriately,  a  sweet  bit  of  china,  and 
there,  below  the  basin  and  the  dish,  are  the  un- 
doubted crossed  swords  of  the  Meissen  factory. 

"  It 's  only  a  common  old  butter-dish,"  said  I, 
shrugging. 

The  spider  was  distinctly  pained.  Tears 
welled  in  his  weak  eyes.  "  Oh,  really,  sir — 
you  '11  excuse  me,  but  I  'm  sure  you  know  better 
than  that.  Dresden,  sir :  those  are  not  even  the 
Worcester  swords.  Examine  it,  sir — I  'm  sorry 
the  light 's  so  bad.     Old  Dresden,  too." 


Honesty's  Garden  261 

"  There  are  wheel  marks  across  the  swords, 
cutting  them " 

"  I  think  not,  sir.  A  small  scratch ;  dirt,  very 
possibly.  Allow  me."  He  attempted  to  wipe 
the  glaze  with  his  sleeve.  "  Yes,  sir — dirt,  you 
see,  after  all." 

Certainly  there  was  dirt  enough  everywhere; 
but  I  could  n't  distinguish  the  wheel  marks  when 
he  returned  the  dish  to  my  hands.  "  Dirt,  sir, 
and  dirt  cheap ! "  He  laughed  feebly  at  his 
feeble  joke. 

"  I  never  can  understand  why  you  chaps  don't 
have  a  spring  clean  now  and  then.  You  're  all 
alike;  your  shops  are  the  most  musty,  dusty, 
unwholesome  places  on  earth " 

"  Temperament,  sir,"  he  interrupted,  sorrow- 
fully. "  It 's  a  spare  life,  but  it  fits  our  humour 
well.     You  know  the  proverb?  " 

"  Shakespeare,"  I  told  him.  "  Touchstone  and 
Corin,  in  the  forest  of  Arden." 

"  Of  course.  The  Swan  of  Avon.  '  A  spare 
life,  but  in  respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I  like  it 
very  well/  It  suits  us,  sir;  it  is  part  of  the 
business.  That  sugar-basin  is  really  a  cabinet 
piece;  observe  the  exquisite  finish  of  the  paint- 
ing. Only  equalled  by  Leroy;  and  you  have  to 
pay  for  Leroy !  " 

"How  much?" 

"  I  bought  it  from  a  gentleman  in  Paradise 


262  Honesty's  Garden 

Street,  sir — you  know  the  spot,  I  see.     Very  old 
part  of  Clapham,  sir." 

"  Yes ;  but  how  much " 

"  Oh,  well — let  me  think.  I  gave  a  good  lot 
for  it;  the  gentleman  was  uncommon  hard  to 
move.     Suppose  we  say  a  sovering,  sir? 

?  You  may  say  it  as  often  as  you  like,"  I 
decided,  putting  down  the  basin — reluctantly, 
I  confess. 

"  It  would  fetch  best  part  of  a  fiver  in  the 
West  End,  sir." 

"  It  won't  fetch  it  here.     Not  from  me." 

"  I  have  n't  been  doing  much  business  to-day. 
Shall  we  call  it  seven teen-and-six?  " 

I  shook  my  head,  and  prepared  to  go. 

"  It  has  been  in  the  gentleman's  family  for 
years,  sir.  It  was  simply  owing  to  a  temporary 
financial  difficulty  that  he  had  to  part  with 
it."  The  spider  eyed  me,  persuasively.  "  How 
about  seventeen  bob?  There  you  are,  round 
figures." 

"  Seventeen  is  n't  a  particularly  round  figure," 
I  argued.  "  No,  thanks.  It  does  n't  especially 
interest  me." 

(My  name  should  be  Moses  Swift,  not  Mor- 
timer. ) 

"  The  gentleman  valued  it  very  high.  He  as- 
sured me  that  it  belonged  to  his  grandfather. 
Quite  an  heirloom — fifteen  shillings,  sir ;  and  the 


Honesty's  Garden  263 

basin  's  yours.  I  '11  do  it  up  for  you  with  the 
little  books." 

"  I  '11  give  you  exactly  half  that  sum," 
said  I. 

He  held  up  deprecating  fingers,  deeply  in 
mourning — to  match  his  tears.  "  Could  n't  be 
done,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir,  all  the  same."  He 
took  up  the  dish  and  the  basin;  and  began  to 
restore  them  to  the  cupboard. 

"  They  're  not  Dresden  at  all,"  I  commented, 
ruthlessly. 

"  Perhaps  not,  sir — I  don't  know  nothing 
about  china.  I  have  n't  made  my  living  all  these 
years  by  dabbling  in  it,  of  course."  The  spider 
waxed  sarcastic.  "  The  gentleman  in  Paradise 
Street,  a  very  superior  person,  he  said  it  was 
genuine  old  Meissen.  It 's  marked  with  the 
crossed  swords " 

"  Oh,  they  all  used  that  mark  in  the  early  days 
of  porcelain." 

"  Don't  that  prove  the  basin  's  old?  "  he  cried, 
at  this  slip  of  mine.  "  It 's  old  porcelain,  any- 
way, and  I  say  it's  Dresden.  Fifteen,  sir — 
you  can't  resist  it." 

He  was  right.  I  couldn't.  I  was  beaten; 
and  fifteen  shillings  passed  to  the  till,  to  keep 
company  with  the  two  I  had  already  paid  for 
the  Compleat  Angler. 

Directly  I  got  home  to  Carbridge  I  washed 


264  Honesty's  Garden 

the  basin  and  dish  carefully,  Jones  in  attend- 
ance, and  highly  interested.  "  That  there  don't 
look  worth  much,  do  it?  "  she  ventured,  in  due 
course. 

"  You  never  can  tell,"  I  said,  viewing,  with 
some  misgiving,  the  re-appearance  of  the  wheel 
marks.  I  dried  the  pieces,  held  them  to  the 
light.  Beautiful,  at  any  rate.  Jones  examined 
them  gingerly.  "  What  's  them  there  little 
figures?  "  she  inquired. 

"Just  pastoral  subjects.  After  Watteau,  the 
great  French  artist.  They  're  shepherds  and  all 
that " 

"  I  mean  these  here  little  tiny  numbers,"  she 
explained. 

"  Numbers?    Where?  " 

Jones  was  right.  Faintly  impressed  in  the 
paste  were  ordinary  modern  numerals — signify- 
ing the  factory  number  of  the  model  from  which 
later  work  is  produced.  "  Old  "  Dresden?  Cer- 
tainly— not!  The  sugar-basin  and  dish  were 
possibly  made  at  the  present  Meissen  Factory: 
but  they  were  decorated,  no  doubt,  by  transfer- 
printing  from  the  original  design  somewhere 
else!  Faulty  glazing,  or  modelling — hence  the 
cuts  of  the  wheel  across  the  swords. 

I  have  found  the  faults.  They  are  slight 
enough — but  fancy  my  being  taken  in!  I,  who 
rather  flatter  myself. 


Honesty's  Garden  265 

"  Still,  it 's  very  pretty,  is  n't  it? "  Jones 
comforted  me.  "And  no  one  isn't  going 
to  take  it  off  of  the  old  sideboard  to  look 
underneath." 


CHAPTEE  XXVII 

Sunday  evening.  I  have  had  a  most  pleasant 
day  of  it,  and  believe  that  my  guests  enjoyed 
themselves.  It  was  sad  for  the  child  Honesty, 
at  first:  how  many  times  was  it  on  the  tip  of 
my  tongue  to  tell  her  that  the  Home  is  hers  yet? 

That  item  of  intelligence  must  come  from 
Baillie.  It  shall  be  my  pleasure  to  tell  him  to 
tell  Honesty. 

A  bright,  warm  day  we  have  had,  considering 
we  're  well  in  October.  The  garden  had  to  be 
tenderly  examined;  but  I  had  no  great  fear. 
Did  not  the  Undertaker,  Jones,  and  I  go  thor- 
oughly over  the  ground  yesterday  afternoon? 
Verges  trimmed  to  the  acme  of  neatness;  lawn 
like  a  billiard- table ;  withered  flowers  and  dead 
leaves  conspicuous  by  their  utter  absence.  A 
general  and  comprehensive  sweep-up  (fully 
equalling  Gatherway  at  his  very  best). 

The  only  non-starter  was  Jock.     I  understand, 

however,  that  he  had  business  in   town.      He 

came  in  this  afternoon,  as  I  had  planned.      I 

made  them  go  into  the  garden,  hoping  they  would 

stand  a  while  at  the  gate — so  that  I  might  (quite 

266 


Honesty's  Garden  267 

discreetly)  view  in  my  mirror  the  curtain  just 
rising  on  the  third  and  last  act  of  the  Comedy 
of  Love.  How  one  does  hanker  after  the  old 
ecstasies. 

It 's  a  sign  of  age,  Mortimer.  You  're  begin- 
ning already  to  say — and  worse,  think — that 
things  were  done  much  better  in  your  "  young 
days."  When  so-and-so  played  that  part  he  did 
this — and  he  did  that.  What  's-his-name,  at  the 
New  Thingummy  Theatre,  is  really  very  good. 
That's  admitted.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  you 
never  saw  so-and-so ! 

What  marvellous  children  we  were  in  those 
good  old  days!  Don't  you  recollect?  At  ten 
you  could  translate  Charles  XII.,  like  pie. 
Algebra,  at  twelve.  Why,  equations  were  noth- 
ing to  you.  Old  Caesar,  and  his  invasions — you 
could  reel  them  off  without  ever  wanting  to 
refer  to  the  vocabulary  at  the  end.  Games — 
I  should  think  so!  In  the  first  eleven,  my 
boy,  long  before  I  was  in  my  teens.  Made 
a  century  more  than  once;  and  as  for  the  hat 
trick 

Your  son  thrusts  a  Latin  motto  before  you, 
on  the  cover  of  his  school  magazine.  "  What 's 
that,  dad?  " 

"  Age  bene  quod  agis." 

Where  are  my  spectacles?  That?  "  age  " — let 
me  see  "  age  bene — "    Bene  means  "  good " 


268  Honesty's  Garden 

Your  young  hopeful  grins  at  his  mother. 
"  The  dad  can't  read  it,"  he  cries. 

"  Do  well  what  thou  doest,"  he  tells  you, 
triumphantly.  There 's  something  for  the  old 
man  to  think  about;  something  to  give  him 
pause,  now  and  again. 

Honesty  and  Baillie  did  not  make  any  tableau 
for  me  at  the  garden  gate.  They  chatted  to- 
gether soberly,  looked  at  the  last  of  the  flowers 
— golden-rod,  dahlias,  Michaelmas  daisies,  heath- 
ers (we  have  some  very  pretty  varieties  at  Car- 
bridge,  I  must  announce;  I  got  them,  in  the 
beginning  of  our  gardening,  from  a  capital 
floriculturist  in  the  Lake  District.) 

I  gave  Honesty  a  sprig  of  white  heather  that 
day  I  came  home  from  Gatherway's  after  we 
had  settled  the  Little  Marvel  Series.  "  For 
luck,"  I  had  said,  heedlessly. 

Poor  little  maid!  Not  much  luck  for  her 
since  then. 

Honesty  and  Jock  Baillie  not  coming  up  to 
my  expectations,  I  amused  myself  with  Billy. 
She  took  the  keenest  interest  in  my  small  library, 
and  was  delighted  to  have  a  copy  of  one  of  my 
adventure  books — "  With  the  author's  kindest 
regards." 

She  pored  over  it.  It  has  pictures,  I  must 
tell  you,  and  these  attracted  her :  "  Did  he 
really  get  killed?  " 


Honesty's  Garden  269 

"  No,  not  really.  We  all  thought  he  was  go- 
ing to  be — but,  just  then,  something  happened. 
You  '11  know  all  about  it,  if  you  read  the  story." 

"  I  shall  read  it  what  do  you  think?  I  always 
reads  my  books  whether  I  like  them  or  not." 
She  turned  to  another  picture.     "  Who  's  she?  " 

"  That 's  the  lovely  girl  he  marries  in  the  end." 

"  What 's  her  name?  " 

"  Bertha." 

"  That 's  an  ugly  name,  what  does  it  mean?  " 

"  Do  all  names  have  to  mean  something?  " 

"  Of  course.  Mine  means  the  Queen's  Jubilee. 
Hers," — she  waved  a  hand  towards  the  garden, 
wherein  Honesty  and  Jock  still  hesitated — 
"  hers  means  what  it  says,  you  know.  Bertha 
— well,  anybody  might  be  named  Bertha." 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  I  said,  meekly.  "  I  '11  call  my 
next  girl  Felicia.     May  I?" 

"  It  means  happiness  that  does.  I  wonder  if 
I  'm  going  to  be  happy?  Very  very  really — truly 
happy?  " 

She  peered  up  from  her  book  so  anxiously 
that  I  hastened  to  assure  her  there  was  n't  the 
slightest  doubt  in  my  mind  about  the  matter. 
She  accepted  the  statement  of  my  convictions 
seriously.  "  Well,  you  know,  lots  of  people 
are  n't  happy  even  though  they  want  to  be — and 
try  ever  so  hard.     Father  he  's  not  happy." 

"  Perhaps  his  name  means  something  else?  " 


270  Honesty's  Garden 

I  suggested,  feeling  rather  positive  it  could  n't 
signify  any  extremely  nice  attribute. 

"  His  name  's  Henry.  I  don't  know  what  it 
stands  for  except  Arry.  I  don't  like  Arry,  do 
you?  Some  of  them  calls  him  Enery;  that's 
beastly  cheek.  Course,  there 's  his  other  name." 
She  reflected. 

"  Jolly  by  name,  and  jolly  by  nature."  I  said, 
hypocritically. 

"  Father 's  not  what  you  might  call  jolly 
neither,"  continued  Billy,  considering  it.  "  It 's 
his  headaches  and  all  that.  And  he  's  so  worried 
about — "  She  closed  her  lips  primly,  in  the 
manner  I  already  know  so  well.  Giving  herself 
away,  or  nearly !  "  You  got  some  pretty  china, 
too,"  she  remarked,  definitely,  changing  the  sub- 
ject. "  I  love  pretty  things  even  if  they  are 
old." 

"  You  don't  love  them  because  they  're  old?  " 

"  Not  much,  not  me ! "  She  scorned  the  no- 
tion. "  I  like  things  because  they  're  pretty, 
that 's  always  the  best  way.  Oh  my — is  n't  that 
the  image  of  our  china  sugar  basin  what  mother's 
so  fond  of !  "  She  pitched  her  book  to  the  floor, 
and  reached  my  beautiful  old  Adam  sideboard  in 
two  skips  and  a  slide.  Next  moment  she  had  the 
spider's  swindle  in  her  hands.  "  Why  it  is 
mother's  basin." 

I  suppose  I  must  have  appeared  rather  at  a 


Honesty's  Garden  271 

loss;  for,  with  the  intense  shrewdness  which  so 
pathetically  distinguishes  some  of  these  old- 
young  little  folk,  Billy  put  the  basin  back  on 
the  dish  of  shepherds  and  shepherdesses,  with 
the  simple  observation :  "  No,  it  is  n't,  after  all. 
I  see  it  isn't  the  same,  though  that  rose-bud 
being  chipped  made  me  think:  perhaps  mother 
gave  it  to  you?  " 

"  She — lent  it  to  me,"  I  compromised. 

"  She  gave  it  you  because  you  gave  me  all 
these  clothes."  She  saw  it  all  quite  clearly. 
"  That  was  good  of  mother,  because — "  She 
paused,  fidgeting  from  one  foot  to  the  other, 
the  pig-tail  whisking  to  and  fro,  punctuating  far 
better  than  commas  and  full  stops :  "  Or  per- 
haps father  he  don't  much  care  for  me  taking 
presents  from — from  people  unless  he  can  pay 
back  you  know." 

"You  can  take  it  home  to  your  mother  to- 
night," I  said,  guessing  things  quite  quickly  for 
me.  "  You  shall  put  it  back  just  where  it  always 
stands,  and  then  no  one  will  ever  know  that  it 
has  been  journeying  to  Carbridge." 

"  But— is  n't  it  yours?  " 

"  Only  while  it 's  here,"  I  assured  her. 

She  slowly  returned  to  her  chair  and  her  book, 
which  I  had  picked  up.  Her  forehead  was  di- 
vided sharply  between  the  brows  by  a  short,  deep 
line.     "  I  reckerlect  father  saying  he  would  try 


272  Honesty's  Garden 

to  get  that  rose-bud  mended  now  I  think  of  it," 
she  told  me  confidentially.  "  He  was  going  to 
give  it  to  you  all  the  time.  You  must  keep  it, 
you  must." 

"  You  need  not  let  father  know,  my  dear,"  I 
answered.  Her  faith  in  that  fellow  touched  me 
deeply.  Do  you  believe  in  fairies?  In  the 
Little  People?  I  do,  friend,  being  a  rather 
childish  old  buffer.  "  Jones  shall  wrap  it  up 
carefully  for  you;  and,  soon  as  you  get  home, 
you  will  invent  some  excuse  to  pop  into  your 
mother's  room — and  slip  those  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  into  their  proper  place." 

She  made  no  further  protest,  and  became  ab- 
sorbed once  more  in  her  book.  I  found  Honesty 
returning  to  the  house :  "  Hullo,  where 's 
Jock?" 

"  He  has  gone  back  to  tea,"  she  replied,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  He  said  he  had  arranged  to  be 
home  by  four-thirty." 

"  I  wanted  him  to  stay  to  supper  with  us,"  I 
began. 

"  We  don't  want  him  if  he  don't  want  us," 
interrupted  Billy,  promptly.  "  It  '11  be  much 
nicer  all  being  by  ourselves  like — without  any 
strangers." 

Honesty  laughed.  "  Thank  you,  Billy.  But 
I  'm  afraid  we  're  strangers,  in  a  sense." 

"  No  we  're  not  and  we  're  not  going  to  be 


Honesty's  Garden  273 

either,"  retorted  the  comma-less  one.  "Come 
and  look  at  this  book  what  Mortimer's  given 
me.  It 's  got  a  picture  of  you  in  it  only  she 's 
called  Bertha."  (Mortimer — did  you  notice  it?) 
She  allowed  me  no  chance,  but  went  on  ruth- 
lessly :  "  He  calls  me  Billy  and  you  Bertha  so 
that 's  quite  good  enough  is  n't  it?  " 

I  gave  Honesty  the  key  of  the  house  next  door 
directly  she  came  this  morning.  She  would 
want  to  be  alone  there,  I  imagined,  and  Jones 
had  given  the  rooms  a  vigorous  dusting  and 
"  turning  out  " — an  apology  for  spring-cleaning, 
according  to  her  statement.  Honesty  did  not 
stay  long  away  from  us,  however,  and  I  guess 
she  had  been  anticipating  Jock's  visit  this  after- 
noon— hoping,  no  doubt,  it  would  drive  away  sad 
thoughts.  And  he  had  come  and  gone  in  half 
an  hour! 

He  had  wished  her  to  say  good-bye  to  me;  he 
would  be  sure  to  see  me  in  the  train  in  the 
morning.  "  Then  it 's  certain  he  is  n't  coming  in 
again  for  supper?  " 

Honesty  understood  he  was  going  up  to  town 
to-night — somewhere  in  the  west-end.  How 
brutal  of  Jock !  These  twentieth-century  lovers ! 
I  '11  swear  that  we  did  n't  go  on  this  way  in 
my  young  days 

At  it  again,  you  see!  Fancy  though,  after 
boring  me  with  all  those  details  (and  drinking 

at 


274  Honesty's  Garden 

my  mellow  old  whiskey),  here  's  our  Romeo  tir- 
ing of  his  Juliet  after  a  few  minutes'  ramble  in 
an  exceedingly  pleasant  and  quite  warm  garden 
(although  October  is  here).     I  give  up  lovers. 

"  I  was  thinking/'  says  Honesty,  seeing  that 
Billy  is  flattering  me  by  affecting  to  be  lost  in 
my  book,  "  that  perhaps  you  would  n't  mind  tak- 
ing me  presently  over  your  new  estate?  "  She 
asked  me  this  in  a  wistful  fashion  which  I 
could  n't  altogether  account  for.  "  I  hardly 
cared  to  go  into  the  house  this  morning,"  she 
added,  in  excuse. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted.  You  must  n't  think  of 
it  as  my  new  estate.  It 's  to  be  a — "  Billy 
glanced  up  from  her  book.  "  A  sort  of — well, 
another  Haven,  you  know/'  I  added,  lamely. 
The  grand  secret  was  nearly  betrayed  then. 

"  He 's  a  genie  he  is,"  Billy  remembered.  "  He 
just  claps  his  hands,  and  people  get  all  they 
really  truly  want.  All  the  things  they  lost  comes 
back  to  them  whatever  they  are.  China  sugar 
basins  and  all  that."     She  resumed  her  reading. 

To  avoid  tiresome  explanations  I  hurried 
Honesty  away.  We  got  candles  and  matches; 
for  the  evenings  are  soon  upon  us  now.  When 
we  were  at  the  door  of  the  Home — "  I  found  I 
couldn't  go  in  by  myself,"  Honesty  faltered. 
*  Was  n't  that  cowardly?  " 

"  Empty  houses  are  always  uninviting,"  I  said, 


Honesty's  Garden  275 

fitting  the  key  to  the  lock.  "  Jock  was  nervous 
about  going  in  here,  even  with  me." 

"  I  don't  see  why  Mr.  Baillie  should  mind 
going  over  our  house,"  Honesty  answered,  in 
a  changed  tone.  "  There  is  nothing  here  to 
frighten — or  interest — Mr.  Baillie." 

"  No?  "  I  opened  the  door,  and  we  crossed  the 
threshold  together.  I  lit  the  candles  we  had 
brought,  and  found  that  thoughtful  Jones  had 
trimmed  the  hall  lamp.  That  soon  bright- 
ened the  place,  and  our  spirits  too. 

The  steady  old  clock  was  tick-tacking  at  the 
right  hour.  Also,  I  had  caused  Jones  to  put 
some  big  bunches  of  Michaelmas  daisies  in  the 
vases  standing  about  in  the  low-ceilinged,  dear 
old-fashioned  parlour. 

We  went  silently  from  room  to  room.  It  did 
not  seem  necessary  that  we  should  speak  much. 
Between  true  friends,  as  Carlyle  says,  there  can 
be  always  the  better  understanding  of  silence. 
Her  own  little  room  she  entered  alone;  and  I 
waited  very  patiently  for  her  in  the  small  lobby 
— on  which  all  the  doors  of  the  up-stairs  apart- 
ments open.  It  was  not  a  large  "  estate  "  that 
we  had  to  view;  but  it  took  time  to  go  over 
it  all. 

I  had  purposely  asked  Jones  to  attend  to  Mrs. 
Dene's  room;  she  had  made  it  gay  with  a  great 
bowl  of  dahlias;  and  on  the  table  by  the  bed 


276  Honesty's  Garden 

my  faithful  serving-maid  had  bethought  her  to 
place  a  Book — one  that  brings  comfort  to  us  all. 

Honesty  suddenly  took  my  arm,  here,  to  the 
great  peril  of  the  candle.  We  cast  queer,  dis- 
torted, and  rather  shaky  shadows  on  the  wall, 
I  fear.  But  brave  little  heart  didn't  break 
down;  and  I  think  she  felt  comforted  in  some 
manner  to  see  the  Home  still  as  much  her  own 
as  ever  a  willing  Jones — and  a  clumsy  man — 
can  make  it. 

When  we  returned  to  the  Haven  we  discovered 
the  Undertaker  strongly  in  evidence.  He  had 
ventured  to  suppose  that  he  might  be  allowed  to 
respectfully  inquire  after  Miss  Dene's  health. 
He  hoped  and  sincerely  trusted  that  she  had  not 
found  the  garden  so  very  much  out  of  order? 
No  doubt  there  were  many  shortcomings,  so  to 
speak,  as  regards  the  actual  details;  but  the 
general  effect 

"  Shows  me  how  many  kind  friends  I  have  in 
Carbridge,"  said  Honesty,  taking  his  hand.  "  It 
is  very  pleasant  to  be  remembered  like  this,  and 
I  do  thank  you  all — oh,  so  much,  and  so 
gratefully." 

"  It  has  been  a  real  pleasure  to  us,"  I  put  in ; 
"  and  we  're  glad  you  're  glad !  So  that 's  set- 
tled. Please  don't  forget  this — Honesty's  gar- 
den will  always  remain  Honesty's  garden, 
because  we  are  all  of  one  mind  about  it;  and 


Honesty's  Garden  277 

when  many  people  are  of  one  mind,  one  mind 
dominates  them  all." 

"  I  don't  understand  that,  I  don't,"  remarked 
Billy,  encouragingly.  "  You  're  always  saying 
queer  things,  you  are.  When  are  we  to  have  sup- 
per? She  " — plainly  meaning  Jones — "  says  it 's 
high  time,  if  she  's  to  get  washed  up  before  she 
goes  to  bed." 

"  Supper  at  once  then — no,  you  are  not  to  go. 
You  must  help  me  entertain.  We  have  a  place 
for  you,  here — "  The  Undertaker  ceremoniously 
drew  out  chairs  for  the  ladies;  and,  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  apologies  for  his  acceptance  of  my 
invitation,  seated  himself  between  them. 

"  You  got  to  talk  to  me  you  have,"  Billy  told 
him,  "  because  I  'm  on  your  right.  The  others 
won't  mind.  How  old  are  you?  Do  you  know 
Clapham?  No,  I  don't  mean  the  Junction  that's 
horrid  that  is.  I  mean  Clapham  Road  where 
they  all  go  along  on  Derby  Day.  You  been  to 
the  Derby?  I  nearly  went  once;  but  father  said 
it  was  no  place  for  ladies " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Gatherway  writes  me  that  he  is  in  London, 
on  very  important  business.  He  desires  to 
know  whether  I  can  take  him  to  my  club  next 
Friday;  as  he  understands  the  subject  of  dis- 
cussion will  be  "  something  unpleasant  about 
publishers." 

I  refer  to  my  syllabus,  and  find  that  we  shall 
discuss  "  Author,  Publisher,  and  Public  "—un- 
der the  direction  of  Rollaston,  of  the  Balmoral 
Magazine.  Why  Gatherway  should  imagine  that 
Rollaston,  or  any  one  of  my  fellow-journalists, 
would  be  likely  to  show  a  hostile  front  to  pub- 
lishers— while  we  have  the  other  two  wretches 
to  bully — passes  my  understanding.  I  tell 
Gatherway  that  he  will  be  most  welcome,  and 
that  if  we  can  benefit  him  by  letting  in  light  on 
the  dark  places  of  publishing,  we  shall  feel  once 
more  justified  in  our  existence  as  a  club. 

We  have  these  Friday  evening  dinners  and 
talks  every  winter;  and  derive  much  amusement 
from  both.  Our  club  has  held  its  meetings  for 
forty  odd  years;  always  on  winter  Fridays — 

27s 


Honesty's  Garden  279 

always  at  the  same  hostelry  in  Fleet  Street. 
Half-past  six  we  sit  down  to  a  plain  repast;  at 
half -past  seven  (or  thereabout)  we  begin  to  dis- 
cuss other  matters — all  quite  in  camera;  so 
that  nobody  is  hurt,  even  when  we  are  at  our 
fiercest.  At  nine-thirty  we  all  go  home  to  bed, 
like  good  little  boys. 

Of  course,  you  and  I  can  guess  Gatherway's 
"  important  business."  He  is  not  a  brick  wall ; 
and  we,  therefore,  see  through  the  whole  affair, 
and  know  well  enough  why  he  wishes  to  dine 
with  us.  Why  do  people  always  choose  me  when 
they  want  to  talk  about  love,  and  all  that  stuff? 

Baillie — but  you  recollect  how  he  used  to 
adopt  the  flimsy  pretext  of  taking  lessons  in  the 
gentle  art  of  fishing,  in  order  to  cover  con- 
sumption of  my  whiskey — not  to  say  siphons. 

That  young  man  has  been  scarcely  noticeable 
at  all  in  Carbridge  of  late.  I  don't  find  him 
on  the  morning  trains;  and  he  does  not  come 
straight  home,  as  all  good  Carbridgians  have 
been  taught  to  do — by  their  respective  and  re- 
spected little  wives.  I  hear  vaguely  that  he  is 
working  very  hard;  and  is  playing  for  a  big 
stake.  With  true  Scot's  caution,  Baillie  has  not 
enlightened  me  as  to  the  nature  of  the  stake; 
but  I  hope  the  faggot  may  prove  digestible  when 
he  has  it! 

Aunt  Sophie  has  threatened  me  with  another 


280  Honesty's  Garden 

invasion,  if  I  don't  go  to  Knightsbridge  soon. 
Uncle  Duveen's  rheumatism  is  so  bad  tliat  the 
old  boy  has  gone  off  to  Nice — alone,  I  regret  to 
discover  on  re-reading  Aunt  Sophie's  vigorous 
epistle.  Nice,  as  she  says,  with  a  true  instinct 
for  geography,  is  not  far  from  Monte  Carlo; 
and  "your  uncle  is  sure  to  be  running  into  all 
sorts  of  mischief;  being  much  the  same  as  the 
rest  of  you  men." 

This  is  distinctly  unfair  of  Aunt  Sophie. 
Uncle  Duveen,  bless  the  old  chap,  will  probably 
enjoy  himself  by  having  a  good  look  at  the  vari- 
ous "  objects  of  interest " ;  thinking  himself  no 
end  of  a  dog  and,  like  a  dog,  delighting  in  his 
freedom — and  there  will  be  the  end  of  it.  He 
won't  go  into  the  Casino,  "  impairing  "  his  sys- 
tem by  accepting  the  odds  of  other  systems — 
not  he.  I  can  picture  him  this  morning,  gently 
promenading  the  warm  front  at  Nice,  arm  in 
arm  with  some  crony  discovered  at  the  hotel; 
the  twain  discussing  rheumatism  in  all  its 
branches  and  ramifications. 

Aunt  would  have  gone  with  him,  she  writes; 
but  "  other  bothers  kept  me  at  home,  Mortimer. 
Your  Cousin  Eva  is  giving  me  a  great  deal  of 
anxiety;  and  I  really  fear  she  is  joyfully  con- 
templating a  step  which  will  make  me  very 
unhappy." 

Another  "  ineligible  "  on  the  Aunt  Sophie  hori- 


Honesty's  Garden  281 

zon,  I  imagine.  "  She  and  that  Harrison  are 
quite  insane  and  impossible,"  continues  my 
worthy  aunt,  scoring  all  her  points  with  decision 
and  a  horribly  thick  pen.  "  Neither  seems  to 
have  any  desire  for  a  restful,  peaceable  life. 
They  are  for  ever  drinking  tea  together  in  Bond 
Street,  in  some  utterly  disreputable  place;  or 
else  are  having  Turkish  baths  in  Northumber- 
land Avenue — a  part  of  London  in  which  no 
respectable  person  is  now  ever  seen.  If  I  feebly 
suggest  that  Eva  should  stay  in  after  dinner  to 
a  quiet,  enjoyable  little  bridge,  with  her  poor 
old  mother  and  one  or  two  other  nice  people, 
she  simply  screams  and  roars — and  wants  to  go 
to  the  theatre.  Positively,  Mortimer,  I  fear  the 
worst.  And  so  slangy,  too — really  where  does 
the  child  pick  it  up?  '  Bumble-puppy  at  ten- 
pence,  and  chicory  at  the  same  price,  don't  ap- 
peal to  me  a  bit,  mother  mine.  Kit  and  I  want 
to  see  the  new  Aladdin,'  or  some  such  twaddle. 
i  She  has  got  seats,  and  'phoned  me  this  after- 
noon, I  must  really.'  Her  actual  words,  Mor- 
timer— and  phrasing." 

Poor  aunt. 

I  shall,  no  doubt,  learn  on  Friday  who  gives 
Kit  the  seats  which  prompt  her  to  'phone  Eva 
that  "  she  must  really  "  come  to  the  theatre,  and 
be — gooseberry ! 

So   I   do  not  altogether  expect  Gatherway's 


282  Honesty's  Garden 

business,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  will  concern 
me  very  nearly.  We  are  getting  along  nicely 
with  our  Marvels;  and  have  just  caught  the 
market  on  the  rise.  They  are  wonderful  little 
books,  and  embrace  many  of  those  masterpieces 
which  have  been  lately  under  eclipse.  We  have 
aimed  at  getting  together  an  interesting  series; 
and,  starting  with  Chaucer  and  Malory,  have 
worked  backwards  and  forwards  from  the  cele- 
brated Ancients  to  the  best  of  the  Moderns. 

Copyright  difficulties  have  prevented  me  so 
far  from  securing  one  small  book  which  I  mean 
shall  eventually  enhance  our  Marvels;  but  we 
shall  triumph  over  prejudice  and  dog-in-the- 
manger  policies  before  we  have  done.  I  refer 
to  Wilde's  exquisite  essayette  on  the  Sonnets 
of  Shakespeare,  The  Portrait  of  Mr.  W*  H., 
which  at  present  cannot  be  obtained  in  England 
— more's  the  shame  (and  loss)  to  us  all.1 

Reading  over  the  Alfred  book  of  my  own  shows 
me  many  faults  in  it  still;  but  I  am  too  busy 
to  attempt  another  re-writing  of  it.  My  clerk 
Carr  has  typed  one  or  two  pages  which  I  did 
amend;  and  has  expressed  a  wish  to  have  the 
rest  of  Honesty's  typescript  for  perusal.  He  is 
a  decent  fellow  that ;  but,  I  'm  afraid,  a  flatterer. 

I  feel  impelled  to  call  at  Paradise  Street  to- 

1  Now  at  last  issued,  jointly  with  Lord  Arthur  Savile's 
Crime,  at  5/-  net.     M.S. 


Honesty's  Garden  283 

night;  having  some  more  work  for  Honesty,  and 
also  a  creeping  desire  to  learn  whether  the  Dres- 
den sugar  basin  (which  isn't  Dresden)  has 
been  allowed  to  remain  in  its  proper  and  lawful 
sphere.  If  I  find  it  has  gone  again  to  the 
spider's  web  I  shall  say  something 

I  see  that  I  left  off  with  Paradise  Street;  and 
it  is  a  strange  thing  that  iny  story  must  move 
forward  from  that  spot,  and  in  so  dreadful  a 
fashion.  That  poor  child — I  cannot  forgive  my- 
self for  having  failed  to  save  her.  I  seem  to  be 
one  who  is  just  too  late  in  every  enterprise. 

It  must  have  been  about  five  o'clock  when  my 
tram  drew  up  opposite  the  Swan  at  Stockwell, 
a  time  of  half-light  so  dangerous  now-a-days  to 
unwary  pedestrians  in  our  crowded  streets.  I 
was  walking  along  thoughtfully  enough  towards 
Paradise  Street,  when  I  became  aware  of  a 
hubbub  and  confusion  taking  place  on  the  foot- 
board of  the  tram  I  had  left,  and  which  now 
was  well  under  way  for  the  next  stopping-place. 
Some  drunken  fellow  had  delayed  getting  down 
at  the  Swan,  and  was  being  perforce  carried  on 
to  a  point  evidently  beyond  his  ticket  and  des- 
tination. He  was  ringing  the  bell  behind  the 
driver,  and  was  loudly  protesting  to  the  con- 
ductor, who  had  hold  of  him  by  the  arm — evi- 
dently wishing  to   wrest   his   fingers   from   the 


284  Honesty's  Garden 

bell-button.  One  or  two  other  passengers  had 
risen  from  their  seats,  others  had  followed  the 
cause  of  the  fuss  from  the  top  compartment  of 
the  car.  So  much  I  saw,  when  nearly  abreast 
of  Paradise  Street 

How  can  I  tell  the  rest?  I  had  hardly  real- 
ised it  was  Billy  who  flashed  swiftly  and  surely 
across  my  path  into  the  road — before  the  whole 
miserable  tragedy  was  upon  us.  She  had  guessed 
that  the  man  was  going  to  jump  from  the  rapidly 
moving  car;  and  she  darted  forward  to  catch 
him — steady  him.  What  else  was  in  her  mind 
I  know  now.  The  man  sprang  suddenly  free  of 
the  conductor  into  the  up-road  of  the  tramway, 
swayed,  and  reeled  in  Billy's  arms  .  .  .  the  two 
together  fell  backwards  clumsily  against  the  rear 
of  the  car,  to  which  the  brakes  had  been  instantly 
applied.  It  seemed  as  if  it  pushed  them  away 
— just  so  gently  that,  although  folks  shouted,  one 
could  not  believe  them  to  be  hurt. 

A  tram  on  the  up  line,  green  lamped,  hammer- 
ing a  clangorous  bell,  bore  down  upon  them;  a 
woman  screamed.  Then  somehow  I  had  reached 
them,  had  torn  the  child  from  that  drunken  grasp. 
The  bell  sounded  immensely  in  my  ears;  a 
rough  hand  thrust  us  outward  .  .  .  together  we 
stumbled  and  staggered  out  of  deadly  peril— I 
carrying  her  through  the  checked  traffic,  a  dead 
weight  under  the  fading  light,  to  the  far  side 


Honesty's  Garden  285 

of  the  road.  There,  in  safety,  came  her  first 
waking  thought :     "  He  ?s  not — hurt?  " 

I  neither  knew,  nor  (God  forgive  me)  cared 
very  much.  Some  one  told  her  that  her  father 
was  not  hurt;  that  he  was  there — close  to  her. 
She  slid  from  my  arms  to  run  to  him;  and  as  her 
foot  touched  the  ground  a  sharp  involuntary  cry 
was  wrung  from  her  quivering  lips.  But  still  she 
would  have  got  to  him — had  courage  availed. 

I  lifted  her  heart-high,  despite  all  protesta- 
tions. By  this  there  was  a  crowd  about  us,  and 
the  police.  They  kindly  enough  made  way  for 
me,  and  allowed  me  to  have  my  will,  so  that  I 
carried  the  little  maid  to  Paradise  Street,  past 
the  poplars,  and  into  her  home. 

I  noticed  that  the  milk  can  was  hanging  there 
from  the  spikes  of  the  railings — a  stupid  detail, 
but  in  some  incomprehensible  style  it  made  a 
note  in  the  tragedy.  Honesty  met  me;  under- 
stood; ran  back  to  open  the  door  of  her  bed- 
room; ran  to  Mrs.  Jolliman.  We  laid  the  child 
on  the  bed,  and  Honesty  was  by  my  side  again, 
bathing  the  cut  cheeks  and  comforting  that 
anxious  heart.  "  Father — he  's  so  careless  he  is. 
He  done  that  before — jumped  off  when  the  tram 
was  going  he  did.  The  man  said  it  might  have 
killed  him " 

"  He  ?s  quite  safe,  dearest — quite,  quite  safe." 

I  heard  the  quick  sigh  of  relief,  as  Billy's  eyes 


286  Honesty's  Garden 

closed  again  briefly.  Mrs.  Jolliman  was  by  the 
bedside,  holding  her  child's  hands.  The  thin 
little  fingers  were  plucking  at  the  bedclothes 
continuously.  Some  one  had  brought  a  doctor : 
he  pushed  by  us  to  the  bed. 

Instantly :  "  Father — he  's  all  right,  is  n't 
he?  "  And  at  the  young  doctor's  word  her  eyes 
closed  again.  "  My  head  's  awful  bad  .  .  .  like 
father's  is  sometimes — "  Her  voice  trailed  away 
into  "  But  then  the  hours  is  so  awkward,  you 
know,  enough  to  try " 

No  worse  than  a  broken  leg,  says  the  doctor 
later  on  (after  examination),  with  slight  con- 
cussion of  the  brain.  A  wonderful  escape  for 
the  man,  who  is  downstairs  in  the  kitchen ;  sleep- 
ing now,  let  us  hope.  It  made  me  too  grossly 
ashamed  of  our  frail  common  humanity  to  hear 
him  crying  over  the  child.  It  brought  before  me 
that  terrible  scene  in  Ibsen's  Wild  Duck,  where 
the  self-deceiving  father  reproaches  himself  for 
Hedwig's  death. 

Honesty  walked  with  me  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion, so  soon  as  the  poor  little  maid's  leg  had 
been  set.  Ah,  brave,  wonderful  soul  in  a  small 
body — not  a  cry,  hardly  a  tear.  Even  a  smile 
for  me  as  I  was  coming  away.  She  made  me 
bend  my  head  to  listen  to  a  very  secret  whisper : 
"  You  have  n't  made  her  happy  yet,  you  know 
— it 's  her  turn  it  is." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

I  can't  help  pondering  over  the  ironical  stu- 
pidity of  it  all.  To  think  that  that  man  actually 
travelled  by  the  same  tram  as  I  did.  Had  I  but 
gone  outside — which  might  easily  have  happened 
— I  should  have  seen  him,  have  been  able  to 
help  him;  he  would  have  alighted  safely  with 
me.  Or,  could  I  have  been  a  thought  quicker 
as  Billy  dashed  by  me,  I  might  at  last  have  been 
of  service  to  some  one  in  this  world. 

That  dream  of  mine  at  St.  Keynes — of  Billy, 
poor  mite,  threatening  me  as  she  swung  between 
her  poplars,  has  come  uppermost  in  my  mind 
once  or  twice.  Of  course  I  don't  believe  in 
dreams — still,  it  is  odd  that  she  should  have 
been  associated  in  that  phantasmagoria  with  the 
thought  of  crippled  children.  Not  that  she  will 
be  a  cripple  for  long;  the  doctor  holds  that 
everything  is  going  along  well  with  her,  and  the 
brain  danger  has  already  passed. 

Carr  is  a  good  chap;  he  took  upon  himself  to 
call  last  Sunday — yesterday.  He  caused  a  sen- 
sation in  Paradise  Street  by  appearing  in  what 

287 


288  Honesty's  Garden 

I  call  a  D'Orsay  overcoat  (a  kind  of  frock-coat 
with  a  waist  and  velvet  collar),  a  tall  hat,  and 
trousers  with  perfect  creases  down  each  leg. 
He  came  just  before  one  o'clock,  a  mystic  and 
important  hour  for  Paradise  Street,  and  gave  the 
loafers  outside  the  nasty  little  public-house  op- 
portunity for  cheap  witticisms.  He  was  carry- 
ing a  regular  cauliflower  of  a  bouquet;  and  had 
a  box  of  chocolates  bulging  one  of  the  pockets 
of  the  magnificent  overcoat. 

Honesty  told  me  all  about  it;  for  I  called  in 
the  afternoon.  I  had  plotted  to  bring  Baillie 
with  me;  but  something  which  Gather  way  let 
fall  the  other  night  gave  me  pause. 

Which  prompts  me  to  bring  you  into  our  con- 
fidence, on  condition  you  don't  tell  a  living  soul. 
Gatherway — are  you  prepared? — is  engaged  to 
be  married. 

He  ate  my  dinner  (much  as  Jock  drank  from 
my  small  cask  on  a  like  occasion)  and  described, 
very  badly,  all  the  pangs  and  torments  which 
love  has  put  upon  him.  How,  surprisingly,  he 
had  been  encouraged  to  be  the  last  to  find  out 
that  he  was  in  love  at  all.  How  she  had  known 
it  from  the  first :  and  had  never  even  given  him 
a  hint. 

"  So  like  a  woman,"  I  remarked,  sententiously. 

He  swept  me  up.  "  So  like  some  women.  But 
Kitty's  totally  different,  Swift,  from  the  rest; 


Honesty's  Garden  289 

nothing  petty  or  small-minded  about  her.  She 
wouldn't  say  yes — or  no;  she  wished  to  con- 
sider the  matter  rationally.  Was  I  quite  sure 
I  loved  her;  had  I  considered  it?  '  I  've  con- 
sidered nothing  else  since  I  saw  you/  I  said. 
1  Ask  Swift.' " 

"  She  did  n't  ask  me,"  I  told  him.  "  Perhaps 
it  was  just  as  well." 

"She's  a  beautiful  girl,"  he  went  on,  fatu- 
ously ;  "  and,  mark  me,  Swift — absolutely  un- 
aware of  the  fact.     Have  you  noticed  her  eyes?  " 

"  I  've  noticed  that  she  does  n't  peep  sideways 
into  looking-glasses  whenever  she  's  near  them," 
I  conceded.  "  Also  she  has  nice — a  pretty 
smile,  I  mean." 

I  nearly  said  teeth;  but  that  seemed,  to  my 
fastidious  mind,  so  much  like  Red  Riding  Hood. 
Besides,  it  was  Gatherway  who  had  been  doing 
the  eating. 

"  A  sweet  smile,  Swift.  Extraordinarily  ex- 
pressive. Gives  charming  emphasis  to  all  that 
she  says."  He  choked  sentimentally  over  his 
ice-pudding,  and  made  worse  of  it  by  gulping 
a  mouthful  whole  and  un thawed.  "  I  'm  the 
lucky  man,  Swift,"  spluttered  he. 

"  Bear  up,"  said  I,  "  there  's  worse  to  come." 

He  positively  glared.  "Ah,  you  cynical  old 
humbug.  You  don't  know  what  life  is.  You  're 
in  your  second  childhood  before  you  're  out  of 
19 


290  Honesty's  Garden 

your  first.  You  're  a  fossil,  Swift.  There 's  no 
blood  in  your  body.  It 's  water,  sir,  water — and 
weak  at  that." 

"  Have  some  coffee? "  I  inquired,  "  and  a 
creme  de  men  the?  " 

"  Can't  stand  peppermint !  it  kills  me.  But, 
of  course,  you  like  it.  Boyhood's  days  come 
back,  as  I  hinted  a  moment  since.  When  's  he 
going  to  let  us  smoke?  Tip  him  the  wink, 
Swift." 

Rollaston  did  n't  need  any  tipping,  or  winking. 
"  Gentlemen,  you  may  smoke !  " 

I  accepted  a  cigar  from  Gatherway  with  mis- 
giving. When  a  man  's  in  love  he  is  n't  given 
to  be  too  careful — in  what  he  eats,  drinks,  or 
smokes.     It  lit  all  right. 

"  I  must  say  that  Mrs.  Duveen  has  made  mat- 
ters very  comfortable  for  us,"  Gatherway  next 
instructed  me.  "  Most  kind  she  has  been,  that 
aunt  of  yours.  And  Eva,  too.  You  '11  excuse 
my  speaking  of  your  cousin  by  her  Christian 
name,  Swift,  but  it  is  her  wish." 

"  I  've  no  objection,"  I  told  him.  "  And  cer- 
tainly Eva  seems  to  have  played  *  gooseberry ' 
to  purpose " 

"  Gooseberry,"  he  broke  in,  in  that  sweeping 
style  of  his.  "  Not  she.  By  Jove,  no !  "  He 
chuckled.  "  I  know  a  bit  about  women,  Swift, 
and  they  won't  stand  being  odd  man  out  for 


Honesty's  Garden  291 

very  long.  I  fixed  it  up  for  your  Cousin  Eva, 
after  a  try  or  two." 

"  The  teas  and  the  Turkish  baths  entertained 
a  quartette,  then?" 

"  Turkish  baths?  Oh,  I  see.  They  were  the 
excuse,  my  dear  fellow.  Surely  you  didn't 
imagine " 

"I  did  n't  permit  myself  to  think  about  it,"  I 
said,  "  but  all  the  same  I  am  glad  to  be  re- 
assured.    Who  was  the  fourth  party?  " 

"  Somebody  that  your  young  pickle  wanted. 
I  'm  the  sharp  one  for  finding  out,  let  me  tell 
you." 

"  You  naturally  wanted  to  have  Kitty  to  your- 
self. You'll  excuse  "my  calling  her  Kitty;  but 
it  was  just  a  little  fancy  of  hers."  (Had  him 
there ! ) 

He  pretended  not  to  notice.  "  Naturally  we 
wanted  to  have  a  minute  or  so  for  conversation 
on  intimate  affairs.  And  Miss  Duveen  is  rest- 
less, Swift.  There 's  no  gainsaying  it.  Look 
how  she  has  worked  that  motor  to  death. 
You  've  heard  Duveen  has  threatened  to  give 
it  up?  " 

"No;  has  he?  He's  still  at  Nice,  I  under- 
stand? " 

"  There,  or  thereabouts."  Gatherway  was 
doing  the  winking  now.  "  Yes,  he  vows  he  '11 
go  back  to  horseflesh,  like  primitive  man." 


292  Honesty's  Garden 

"  And  who  was  the  fourth  party?  "  He  had 
quite  wandered  away  from  the  point,  as  you 
observe,  and  I  didn't  want  a  dissertation  on 
horses.  It  would  inevitably  lead  to  hunting, 
one  of  Gatherway's  pet  subjects.  I  also  desired 
to  hear  something  of  the  discussion  on  Author, 
Publisher,  and  Public. 

"  Oh,  that  was  young  Baillie,  of  course.  One 
saw  how  the  wind  was  blowing  when  we  were 
at  Dieppe." 

"  I  perceived  the  quarter  it  was  blowing  from 
— as  regards  you — and  Kitty,"  I  said,  remember- 
ing that  night  I  had  met  them  crossing  the 
Plage.  "But  Baillie  —  and  Eva?  You're 
joking?  " 

"  You  '11  hear,"  he  declared,  grimly.  "  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  altogether  if  you  'd 
have  to  give  two  wedding  presents  very  shortly, 
Swift.     So  save  up,  my  laddie." 

Jock — and  Eva?  Can  it  be  that  my  story, 
and  his  story,  is  going  to  turn  out  all  wrong? 
It  also  is  Honesty's  story;  and  I  conceive 
Honesty  as  being  more  important  than  the  other 
parties.  At  any  rate,  I  decline  to  be  a  fat- 
headed  genie,  like  that  one  which  Sindbad  let 
out  of  the  bottle.  So  I  did  n't  tell  Baillie  I  was 
going  to  No.  117  Paradise  Street,  on  Sunday. 

I  rather  hoped  he  would  be  there,  however, 
of  his  own  volition. 


Honesty's  Garden  293 

Here  we  are  wandering  from  Author,  Pub- 
lisher, and  Public — and  Gatherway,  who  had 
many  further  items  to  give  me  concerning  his 
beloved.  I  spare  you  his  rhapsodies;  as  you  al- 
ready know,  from  what  I  have  written,  how 
charming  a  girl  is  Kitty  Harrison — despite  her 
premature  acceptance  of  Gatherway  on  his  own 
estimate. 

Rollaston  opened  the  proceedings,  and  we  had 
a  capital  speech  from  the  club  guest  of  the 
evening.  But  do  you  care  twopence,  or  even 
a  penny,  about  the  matter? 

It 's  as  old  as  the  hills,  this  quarrel.  The 
author  says  that  the  publisher  does  n't  properly 
pay  the  piper,  although  he  insists  on  calling  the 
tune.  The  publisher  swears  that  he  loses  money 
— no  matter  what  the  piper  plays.  The  public 
vows  that  it  can  never  get  what  it  wants — either 
in  the  way  of  piper  or  tune. 

Naturally,  I  think  the  author  is  very  badly 
treated.  I  consider  that  he  should  have  the  bulk 
of  the  profits,  and  should  be  regarded  as  a  per- 
son of  extreme  importance.  I  emphatically 
declare  that  no  birthday  list  of  honours  is  com- 
plete, or  satisfying,  unless  it  contains  (at  least) 
one  author.  I  claim  that  literature  should  rank 
equally  with  bacon. 

In  one  glorious  reign  it  was  synonymous. 

I  tell  this  joke  to  Gatherway  during  a  lull  in 


294  Honesty's  Garden 

the  discussion.  I  could  see  that  another  attack 
of  Kitty  Harrisonitis  was  overdue,  and  my 
ready  wit  certainly  succeeded  in  keeping  the 
trouble  in  check. 

At  half-past  nine  the  club  had  talked  the  mat- 
ter out  to  its  own  satisfaction ;  and  so  we  retired 
to  the  club-room  to  continue  the  debate  in  more 
informal  style.  Gatherway  drinks  water  with 
his ;  which  shows  him  in  a  bad  light,  I  maintain. 
The  man  who  takes  a  dash  of  Apollinaris  with 
it,  however,  is  a  true  artist. 

Gatherway  retorted  by  roaring  out  (for  all 
to  hear)  that  he  didn't  store  whiskey  in  his 
house  by  the  cask,  like  some  folk.  "  No,"  I  say, 
"  because  you  would  n't  store  it  at  all ;  you  would 
drink  it." 

"Isn't  that  the  proper  way  to  store  it?"  he 
asks,  thumpingly. 

He  has  many  bad  habits,  has  Gatherway.  The 
tobacco  he  smokes  (judging  by  that  cigar)  is  n't 
tobacco  at  all.  I  should  say  it  grew  in  Jersey 
along  with  the  cabbages,  and  was  dried  on  a  wet 
day.  Still,  he  's  very  much  in  love ;  and  intends 
to  be  a  good  fellow.  Kitty  is  influencing  him 
already;  he  doesn't  sweep  me  up  quite  so 
unbearably  as  of  yore. 

I  expect  a  lecture  from  Aunt  Sophie,  in  due 
course.  You  have  not  lost  sight  of  the  fact 
that  Kitty  was  designed  for  me?     But  I  don't 


Honesty's  Garden  295 

figure  well  in  my  aunt's  "  system,"  I  fear.  I  'm 
the  five,  under  which  numeral  she,  in  common 
with  most  players,  loses  heavily.  Nothing  that 
I  touch  seems  to  go  as  it  should. 

What  am  I  to  do  with  Honesty's  garden  in 
the  event  of  the  Jock  and  Eva  rumour  becoming 
something  more  solid?  I  can't  live  in  two 
houses;  or  two  gardens — for  the  matter  of  that. 
I  wonder  whether  Honesty  could  bring  herself 
to  ever  care  a  little  for 

Absurd,  my  dear  Mortimer!  Love  is  epi- 
demic, like  most  other  deadly  afflictions.  You 
are  in  danger  of  catching  it,  my  poor,  dear, 
deluded,  round-shouldered  old  man.  Do  you 
mean  to  make  an  exhibition  of  yourself  in  your 
dotage? 

I  'm  afraid  I  would  rather  like  to ! 


CHAPTER  XXX 

The  "exhibition"  (outwardly)  ends  in  my 
simply  repeating  Carr's  performance  last  Sun- 
day. If  I  were  a  lover  in  the  accepted  sense 
(like  Gatherway)  I  should  have  anticipated  Mr. 
Carr,  not  have  slavishly  followed  his  example. 
Behold  me  passing  the  poplar  trees  of  Paradise 
Street  at  half-past  three  to-day,  a  butt  for  the 
louts  and  servant  girls  who  monopolise  Sunday 
afternoons  in  the  suburbs  of  London.  I  was 
glad  to  dive  behind  the  iron  gate  opposite  the 
swing,  and  hammer  discreetly  for  shelter  at  the 
door  of  No.  117.  Honesty  had  spied  my  ap- 
proach from  the  window — and  I  was  not  kept 
long  a-waiting. 

"  What  lovely  flowers !  Where  did  you  get 
them?  " 

She  knew,  I  think,  before  I  answered: 
"  They  're  your  own,  cut  haphazard.  You  per- 
ceive that  the  garden  is  not  altogether  neglected? 
Tell  me,  how  is  the  patient?  " 

"  Better,  much  better.  She  will  be  so  glad 
to  see  you.     But,  before  we  go  in — I  want  you 

296 


Honesty's  Garden  297 

to  be  very  firm  with  her.  She  will  persist  in 
trying  to  do  things;  and  I  know  the  doctor  is 
rather  anxious " 

"  Anxious?  " 

"  Only  that  she  shan't  be  a  cripple  for  life," 
Honesty  hastened  to  reassure  me.  "  The  frac- 
ture is  setting  wonderfully;  but  I  am  so  afraid 
she  will  be  jumping  out  of  bed — that  I  scarcely 
dare  to  leave  her.  She  worries  over  him,  you 
know."  Honesty  whispered  the  rest.  "  He  's 
tiresome  at  times,  and  needs  managing." 

"  Needs  a  jolly  good  talking  to,"  I  growled. 
But  Honesty  laid  her  little  hand  lightly  on  my 
mouth,  a  fairy  touch,  which  instantly  brought 
good  manners ;  also  an  insane  desire  to  kiss  those 
small  quickly  withdrawn  fingers.  I  thought  of 
that,  though,  a  millionth  part  of  a  moment  too 
late.     Typical  of  me. 

We  went  in  to  Billy,  who  had  reared  herself 
up  in  bed  in  her  intense  curiosity.  "  Hello, 
what  were  you  two  doing  out  there  in  the  hall? 
Was  it  secrets?  " 

"  Of  course  not ! "  answered  Honesty,  posi- 
tively blushing  at  this  direct  charge.  "Look 
at  these  beautiful  flowers;  brought  all  the  way 
from  Carbridge  for  you.     Are  n't  they  lovely !  " 

"  They  don't  smell  very  much,"  opined  Billy, 
regarding  them  critically.  "  That 's  the  worst 
of  those  showy  things " 


298  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Ungrateful  little  girl,"  said  I,  crossing  to 
her.  "  I  believe  you  '11  like  these  better,"  and 
produced  a  box  of  peppermint  creams,  and  a 
couple  of  paper-backed  books.  She  grabbed  the 
books  first. 

"  What 's  this  one — adventures?  " 

"  Marvellous,  astounding.  And  the  other  I  'm 
very  fond  of.  I  hope  you  will  love  the  heroine 
as  much  as  I  do." 

"  It 's  long  is  n't  it?  The  name  's  all  right." 
She  eagerly  turned  over  the  pages  of  Lorna 
Doone.     "  Does  he  marry  her  in  the  end?  " 

"  Certainly.     That 's  the  end  of  all  stories." 

"  It  ought  to  be  the  beginning,"  suggested 
Honesty. 

Billy  flashed  her  a  keen  glance.  "  Stories  about 
married  people  and  their  children  would  n't  be 
a  bit  interesting  they  would  n't.  I  know  all 
about  that  kind  of  story  myself." 

"  Well  now,  how  is  the  poor  leg?  "  I  asked,  to 
divert  her  mind  from  that  particular  aspect  of 
life — the  Paradise  Street  view  of  things.  "  I 
trust  you  're  taking  care  of  yourself?  " 

"She  is,"  replied  Billy,  proudly;  her  nod  in- 
dicating Honesty.  "  Help  me  sit  up  please,  so  's 
I  can  look  at  the  books." 

"  You  ought  n't  to,  dear,"  began  Honesty. 

"  There  you  are,  I  did  n't  ask  you.  I  shan't 
hurt  my  old  leg.     Help  me,  Mortimer,  and  don't 


Honesty's  Garden  299 

mind  what  she  says.  She  's  always  fussing  and 
bothering,  she  is — I  shan't  give  her  a  cream. 
You  and  I  '11  eat  them  all,  every  one."  As  I 
put  my  arm  about  Billy  to  lift  her  into  a  com- 
fortable half-reclining  position,  Honesty  moved 
to  the  other  side  of  the  bed  and  bolstered  her 
up  with  the  pillows.  Billy  put  out  her  thin 
arms  suddenly  and  caught  me  round  the  neck. 
I  was  favoured  with  a  vehement  ( and  rather  pep- 
perminty)  embrace.  "You're  an  old  dear  you 
are.  Here,  whisper — I  put  my  foot  on  the 
ground  this  morning,  I  did — when  she  wasn't 
in  the  room.  I  can  stand  all  right  just  like 
I  used.  Don't  let  her  know,  she'd  be  so 
cross." 

"  Promise  me  you  won't  do  it  again,"  said  I 
softly  but  with  insistence.  "  Promise  now,  or 
I  '11  take  Honesty  away,  never  to  come  back  any 
more." 

Billy  peered  into  my  eyes  to  see  if  I  meant 
it.  "  You  're  not  going  to  be  horrid  too  are 
you?  You  would  n't  want  to  be  lying  about  in 
an  old  bed  day  after  day  when  there  's  heaps  of 
things  to  be  done.  Father  can't  get  his  meals 
proper,  or  nothing — while  I  'm  here.  It  makes 
his  home  miserable  after  a  hard  day's  work  it 
does  to  come  back  to  a  houseful  of  invalids. 
There  ain't  no  wonder  he  goes  out  again." 

She  paused,  and  then  the  pig-tail  came  to  the 


3<x)  Honesty's  Garden 

rescue.  It  whisked  back  to  front,  front  to  back, 
and  the  tears  remained  unshed. 

"  You  want  to  get  well,  dearest,  don't  you?  " 
questioned  Honesty,  who  had  gathered  the  gist 
of  it.  "  You  must  get  well,  so  as  to  be  able  to 
help  father  again.  And  the  only  way  is  to  be 
patient,  just  a  little  while  longer " 

"  It 's  always  a  little  while  longer  it  is. 
That 's  why  I  hate  it  so.  Why  can't  it  be  now, 
now,  now !  I  don't  want  things  when  I  'm  old ; 
when  I  can't  enjoy  them,  and  don't  care  to  enjoy 
them.  I  've  been  here  a  hundred  years  I  have ; 
and  it 's  always,  always  wait  a  little  while 
longer."  The  pig-tail  flashed  to  the  front, 
hastening  valiantly  to  save  the  situation. 

Billy  gulped  her  grief  bravely.  "  There  don't 
you  mind  me.  I  ?m  a  beast  I  am.  She 's  so 
good  and  I  'm  such  a — such  a  beast !  It  was  all 
my  fault  I  got  hurt  making  doctor's  bills  and 
all  that  and  fresh  worries  when  people 's  got 
quite  enough  as  it  is.  It 's  enough  to  try  the 
patience  of  Job,  always  and  for  ever  working 
all  hours  of  the  night  and  day — to  keep  house 
and  home  together.  And  then  when  you  do  get 
home,  there  's  nothing  but  sour  looks  and  don't 
wake  the  child " 

Somehow  she  had  wriggled  herself  into 
Honesty's  arms  by  this;  and  there  found  com- 
fort.    I  turned  to  the  window,  and  pretended 


Honesty's  Garden  301 

I  couldn't  hear  the  small,  pitiful  weeping.  I 
untied  the  string  which  Jones  had  very  firmly 
knotted  about  the  stalks  of  my  despised  dahlias, 
and  attempted  to  arrange  the  beautiful  flowers 
in  a  vase  on  the  chest  of  drawers.  But  dahlias 
are  not  easy  to  arrange. 

Presently  I  found  Honesty  by  my  side.  "  Let 
us  go  downstairs  to  the  kitchen.  Only  Mrs. 
Jolliman  is  in,  and  we  can  get  tea.    Will  you?  " 

I  peeped  towards  the  bed,  and  saw  Billy  deep 
in  King  Solomon's  Mines.  The  storm  had 
passed. 

So  we  descended,  like  two  children,  to  the 
lower  and  more  material  regions  of  Paradise, 
hand  in  hand,  and  spent  a  pleasant  time  getting 
the  tea.  Mrs.  Jolliman  was  in,  but  asleep.  She 
woke  up,  all  apologies;  but  Honesty  ordered  her 
off  to  her  own  room.  "  A  little  rest  will  do  you 
good.  You  go  upstairs  and  lie  down,  quietly. 
Mr.  Swift  and  I  are  going  to  be  useful,  for 
once." 

"  But  I  must  show  you  where  to  find  the  tea. 
And  the  fire 's  gone  out,  too.  Oh,  dear,  dear, 
I  'm  so  sorry."  Mrs.  Jolliman  began  to  fuss 
about  the  kitchen  in  an  aimless  manner.  The 
place  was  most  untidy;  and,  man-like,  I  began 
to  think  that,  perhaps,  there  was  some  excuse 
for  Jolliman 

Honesty  soon  found  the  tea — in  the  identical 


302  Honesty's  Garden 

little  Dresden  sugar-basin  that  you  wot  of. 
"  Ah,  yes,  a  nice  bit  of  chiny  that,  Mr.  Swift. 
Used  to  belong  to  my  mother,  it  did.  There  was 
two  of  them,  and  six  plates,  and  three  square 
dishes.  One  of  my  lodgers  said  they  was  real 
old  chiny,  and  worth  ever  so  much.  The  child 
sets  a  store  on  that  there  basin,  because  her 
father  says  it 's  so  valuable.  But  the  plates  is 
all  cracked.  Do  let  me  light  that  there  fire, 
Miss  Honesty!  You'll  make  yourself  so  black, 
you  will." 

The  fire  yielded  to  our  joint  ministrations, 
and  then  Honesty  had  her  own  way.  Mrs. 
Jolliman,  expostulating,  was  hurried  away  to 
her  room.  Honesty  returned  triumphant.  "  Now 
we  can  get  the  place  to  ourselves,  and  reduce 
chaos  into  something  more  resembling " 

"  A  kitchen,"  said  I,  smiling.  Between  us,  we 
bustled  to  some  purpose.  Jones  would  have 
stared  to  see  me — washing  up,  and  drying,  and 
putting  away  into  their  proper  places  a  small 
battalion  of  plates  and  dishes.  I  must  con- 
fess that  I  did  not  relish  washing  the  knives. 
They  wouldn't  wash,  simply — until  Honesty 
showed  me  how.  Wonderful  what  a  lot  she 
knows. 

Then  we  laid  table:  for  two,  if  you  please. 
"  I  'm  going  to  take  their  tea  upstairs,"  an- 
nounced Honesty,  "  after  we  have  each  had  a 


Honesty's  Garden  303 

cup.  For,  really,  I  must  say  we  deserve  some 
kind  of  reward." 

"  You  could  n't  give  me  a  reward  that  I  like 
better,"  I  said. 

"  Men  always  love  tea,"  she  remarked,  quite 
mistaking  my  meaning.  "Now,  sit  down,  please, 
and  cut  some  nice  thin  bread  and  butter.  Gra- 
cious, not  so  thick !  You  must  cut  bread  towards 
you,  not  downwards.     Like  this." 

In  a  minute  or  so,  behold  a  dish  of  dainty 
bread  and  butter,  fit  for  a  king  and  queen. 

I  felt  royal,  too — sitting  side  by  side  with 
Honesty.  Never  had  we  seemed  so  near,  so  in- 
timate. Was  it  strange  that,  presently,  my  hand 
should  find  hers  in  some  oddly  natural  manner, 
and  my  fingers  close  about  those  others,  so  soft 
and  so  yielding? 

"  My  dear,"  I  heard  myself  saying,  "  do  you 
know  I  want  to  tell  you  some  very  important — 
and  very  difficult — news?  And  for  the  life  of 
me,  I  don't  know  how  to  begin." 

"  I  fancy,"  said  Honesty,  quietly,  "  that  you — 
have  begun." 

"  It 's  about — "  and  I  plunged  straight  to  the 
truth  of  it,  instead  of  being  a  tiny  bit  diplomatic 
— "  It 's  about  John  Baillie — and  my  Cousin 
Eva." 

Honesty  said  "  Oh  "  in  a  round  kind  of  voice, 
and  gently  pulled  her  hand  from  under  mine. 


304  Honesty's  Garden 

Having  thus  lost  everything  to  hold  me  safe  to 
the  shore,  I  floundered  about  in  rough  waters 
quite  hopelessly,  "  I  believe  they  're  going  to  be 
engaged.  In  fact,  from  what  my  friend  Gather- 
way  told  me " 

"Yes?" 

"  He  said,  they  were  engaged — and  only  wait- 
ing my  uncle's  consent." 

She  was  silent  so  long  that  I  imagined  I  had 
better  go  on.  "  I  hope,  my  dear,  dear  child, 
you  won't  take  it  too  much  to  heart.  I  've  told 
you  very  badly  and  stupidly,  and  not  at  all  as 
I  meant  to.  But,  perhaps,  it  was  better  to  get 
done  with  it  quickly." 

She  turned  steady  eyes  towards  mine.  "  Why 
do  you  say  that?  "  she  questioned,  gravely. 

Fire  roses  flamed  in  her  face  at  my  silence; 
died  down.  "  It  is  strange  you  should  think 
that  I — "  She  paused,  trying  to  choose  her 
words.  "  Do  you  actually  believe  that  your 
news  is  very  dreadful?  For  my  hearing,  I 
mean?  Is  it  possible  that  you  believe  that  I 
care  one  tiny  scrap;  that  you  imagine  my  heart 
beats  faster — because  of  what  you  have  told 
me?" 

She  smiled  whimsically,  and  pushed  back  her 
chair  from  the  table,  then  moved  away  from 
me,  crossing  to  where  the  kettle  was  clamorous 
on  the  hob.     Her  face  was  hidden;   I   fancied 


Honesty's  Garden  3°5 

that  she  laughed,  then  I  knew  it  was  not 
laughter  at  all 

Somehow  I,  too,  had  risen;  had  reached  her. 
The  kettle  was  threatening  us  both  fussily,  but 
I  caught  her  away  from  it,  and  she  was  in  my 
arms.  "  Have  I  been  wrong?  "  I  demanded,  so 
roughly,  that  my  voice  was  new  to  me.  "  Wrong 
all  through  and  through?  Don't  you  care  for 
him;  don't  you?    You  seemed  to,  once " 

Her  mouth  was  closed,  but  her  eyes  answered. 
I  kissed  her  lips;  and  she  came  to  me,  and  was 
mine;  utterly,  and  for  ever. 

Looking  back,  I  cannot  yet  believe  it.  Is  it 
credible,  when  one  is  quiet,  and  alone,  and  a 
little  chilled?  That  she,  so  young,  should  love 
me,  so  old?  That  she,  so  very  beautiful,  so 
sweet  in  thought  and  in  deed;  an  angel 

Angels  are  to  be  discovered — even  in  Paradise 
Street.  I  know  that  this  is  true.  True  also  that 
the  kettle  boiled  over  in  great  indignation,  so  I 
suppose  we  could  n't  have  been  attending  to  it ! 

Honesty  has  chosen  to  be  blind  to  my  many 
imperfections — or  has  she  only  deceived  herself 
into  thinking  she  loves  me?  Thus  I  torment 
myself,  even  in  the  midst  of  all  my  raptures. 
She  has  given  herself  to  me  in  gratitude — for 
the  very  little  I  have  done  for  her:  hers  is  a 
daughter's  love — for  one  who  has  only  tried  to 
be  kind. 


306  Honesty's  Garden 

Or,  perhaps,  her  pride.  Does  that  bid  her 
make  pretence,  in  order  that  none  may  guess 
how  cruelly  she  feels  her  loss  in  love? 

Again  I  tell  myself,  tinglingly,  that  it  is  true 
— that  a  miracle  has  come  about.  Have  we  not 
settled  all  the  world's  politics,  we  two,  for  all 
time?  In  future  there  will  just  be  the  Haven, 
and  all  the  world  will  be  contained  within  its 
four  walls. 

I  am  afraid  that  they  had  to  wait  for  their 
tea,  those  others.  The  kettle  had  to  be  coaxed 
back  into  good  humour.  Lovers  are  dreadfully 
selfish — and  minutes  were  seconds — no  more; 
indeed,  not  so  much.  Mrs.  Jolliman  did  n't  rest 
upstairs  long  enough.  We  fortunately  recog- 
nised that  it  was  all  over,  that  amazingly  glori- 
ous, never-to-be-forgotten  hour,  at  the  precise 
moment  that  she  re-entered  the  kitchen.  I  was 
sufficiently  natural  to  permit  her  to  discover 
me  cutting  more  bread-and-butter;  whilst  Hon- 
esty was  on  her  knees  before  the  expiring  fire, 
trying  to  blow  back  life  into  it. 

I  don't  fancy  she  guessed  anything.  She  cer- 
tainly did  ask  if  I  was  preparing  for  a  school 
feast;  but  Honesty  came  to  the  rescue.  She 
turned,  in  flushed  and  charming  confusion,  to 
vow  she  had  quite  overlooked  the  fact  that  there 
was  already  bread  and  butter  enough  for  a 
dozen,  and  hastened  to  brew  and  pour  out  for 


Honesty's  Garden  307 

Mrs.  Jolliman  a  cup  of  the  most  delicious  tea 
that  ever  I  remember  to  have  tasted. 

I  don't  mean  I  tasted  it  from  Mrs.  Jolliman's 
cup.  I  had  mine  from  Honesty's.  Then  my 
darling  escaped,  on  a  pretence  of  taking  tea  to 
Billy;  leaving  me  to  discuss  the  quasi-Dresden 
sugar  bowl  with  Mrs.  Jolliman,  whilst  she  dis- 
cussed a  second  cup  of  somewhat  over-drawn 
tea.  She  made  up  for  that,  however,  by  telling 
me  all  about  Mr.  Jolliman's  headaches;  the 
topic  naturally  starting  from  strong  tea,  as  she 
said. 

He  can't  put  down  his  headaches  altogether 
to  that. 

The  subject  did  not  especially  interest  me, 
and  Honesty  was  so  long  away,  that  I  ventured 
to  institute  a  search-party,  consisting  very  com- 
pletely of  myself  solus.  I  found  her  with  Billy, 
who  was  gravely  regarding  food  and  King  Sol- 
omon in  turns.  "  Jolly  fine  it  is  just  the  sort," 
declared  my  young  friend,  favouring  me  with 
the  briefest  glance.  "  I  've  read  six  chapters 
nearly  and  I  got  to  where  they  go  down!  My! 
would  n't  I  love  to  find  those  mines.  D'  you 
think  it 's  really  and  truly?  " 

"  Part  of  it,  perhaps " 

"  I  shall  go  to  Africa  when  I  'm  married,  if 
they  've  killed  off  all  the  lions  and  tigers.  Thank 
you  very  much  for  those  flowers;  Honesty  says 


308  Honesty's  Garden 

I  forgot  to  thank  you.  I  'm  always  afraid  of 
'em,  you  know,  they're  so  earwiggy.  Once  I 
knew  a  girl  who  had  an  earwig  crawl  right  into 
her  ear  it  did.     Oo,  it  was  awful !  " 

I  learned  very  shortly  afterwards  that  the 
great  problem  had  been  settled.  That  busy 
little  brain  had  immediately  perceived  that  we 
could  n't  want  to  live  in  two  houses,  in  any 
case.     So  one  must  be  got  rid  of. 

"  I  could  never  part  with  the  Home,"  I  argued. 

"Of  course  not!  But  you  wouldn't  mind 
moving  the  Haven  into  the  Home,  would  you? 
It  wouldn't  be  difficult,  and — change  is  good 
for  us  all.  I  would  help  with  the  precious 
books." 

"  I  must  talk  it  over  with  Jones." 

"  We  will  talk  it  over  with  Jones  afterwards." 
I  observe  that  she  means  to  be  first,  this  small 
but  extremely  important  person.  "  I  have  an 
idea.  Why  not  do  as  that  funny  boy  suggested 
— turn  the  Haven  into  a  play-house  for — "  She 
checked  herself  hurriedly. 

"  Play-house  for  what? "  demanded  a  sharp 
little  voice. 

"For  little  children,  Billy.  Don't  you  think 
that  a  capital  notion?" 

"  It  was  cripples  he  said.  I  have  n't  forgot. 
Cripples,  but  I  'm  not  going  to  be  a  cripple  never 
fear.     I  'm  going  to  do  adventures  and  go  to 


Honesty's  Garden  309 

Africa.  Where  are  you  two  going  when  you  're 
married?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know — "  faltered  Honesty,  and 
then  she  peeped  aghast  into  my  face  of  con- 
sternation. But  our  young  lady  hadn't  quite 
intended  her  question  in  that  embarrassing  man- 
ner. "  One  of  you  might  go  to  Africa  with  me," 
she  proposed,  wistfully,  "  because  it  would  n't 
be  altogether  likely  you  'd  both  be  going  to  the 
same  place  would  it?  You  might  want  to  live 
side  by  side  though  so  I  would  n't  give  the  Haven 
to  no  cripples.  There  's  lots  of  other  things  you 
could  do  with  it  better  than  that." 

Thus  Honesty's  "  idea  "  got  sat  upon,  even  as 
she —  But  that 's  tellings !  I  walked  home  to- 
night from  the  station  at  Carbridge  (she  came 
with  me  to  the  Clapham  station)  literally  on 
air.  What  a  lovely  world  it  is;  how  amazingly 
beautiful !  I  stood  for  a  while,  under  the  stars, 
bareheaded,  and  the  scent  of  the  sweetbriar  was 
as  frankincense.  Is  it  a  dream?  Tell  me.  Or 
am  I  only  the  luckiest  fellow  alive? 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

It  is  not  a  dream,  but  only  a  secret.  Honesty 
wishes  it  to  be  the  latter — for  the  present.  I 
understand  why,  and  love  her  all  the  more  for  it. 

I  am  to  move  into  the  house  next  door.  That 
has  been  ordained ;  for  the  fates  seem  to  be  with 
Honesty  all  through.  I  weakly  mentioned  her 
notion  to  the  Undertaker:  he  promptly  carried 
it  to  the  vicar.  As  a  result  I  was  "  approached," 
as  they  say  in  the  papers,  and  negotiations  were 
opened  for  the  sale  of  the  Haven. 

I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it;  so  I  don't.     Jones 

is   quite   easy   about   the   matter.     "  One   good 

thing,  we  shan't  lose  our  cat.     He  '11  soon  find 

out  where  to  go.     It  '11  be  same  as  before  to  him, 

because  they  '11  hardly  turn  him  out — if  he  does 

go    in    their    kitching."     Jones    is    reconciled, 

therefore.      Moreover :     "  We    should    have    to 

have  a  spring  cleaning  anyways  in   both   the 

houses;  and  now  I  shall  only  have  to  do  one. 

It  will  be  a  easy  move,  too.     You  '11  be  able  to 

carry    your    books    in    yourself,    and    all    your 

writing-papers,  and  your  china."      She  asks  a 

310 


Honesty's  Garden  311 

question  which  I  have  long  feared  to  hear. 
"  Ain't  you  ever  going  to  bring  them  Queer  Toes 
back  from  the  orfice?  " 

"  I — ah,  no.  In  fact,  I  have  sold  them." 
(Jones  must  know  the  truth  sooner  or  later; 
and  the  fiction  of  their  being  at  the  "orfice" 
can't  be  lived  up  to  eternally.) 

"  You  sold  them?  You  never  said  nothing 
about  it." 

She  is  plainly  affronted :  so  I  tell  her  the  bald 
facts.  "  Yes,  I  sold  them  to  help  pay  for  the 
house  into  which  we  are  about  to  move.  They 
more  than  paid  for  it,  I  may  say.  I  couldn't 
allow  Miss  Dene's  garden  to  belong  to  any  one 
else." 

Jones  receives  the  information  in  silence. 
She  turns  it  over  mentally  whilst  she  clears 
away  my  dinner :  "  I  wonder  you  could  bring 
yourself  to  part  with  them  Queer  Toes,"  she 
remarks,  as  she  puts  the  finishing  touches  to 
her  work.  "  I  thought  you  wanted  to  get  an- 
other of  them,  or  something,  and  have  'em  all 
bound  up  together." 

"  It  was  you  who  suggested  that,"  I  reminded 
her  grimly. 

She  brightened  considerably,  evidently  taking 
this  as  a  compliment.  "  We  shall  have  a  lot 
more  furniture  than  we  can  do  with,"  she  de- 
cided, before  leaving  me  to  my  pipe  and  evening 


312  Honesty's  Garden 

paper.  "  That  there  boy  will  be  able  to  help 
us  sell  what  we  don't  want." 

"  I  shall  let  the  vicar  take  his  choice,  after  I 
have  had  mine,"  I  said.  I  relish  this  daily  after- 
dinner  chat  with  Jones,  she  is  so  eminently  prac- 
tical. She  supplies  me,  all  unknowingly,  with 
many  ideas.  "  That  will  be  partly  my  gift 
towards  the  Play  House." 

"  I  should  n't  do  anything  without  telling 
Mrs.  Duveen,"  Jones  admonishes  me.  "  She 
wouldn't  like  it;  and  she  does  carry  on  about 
things  she  don't  like.  That  there  young  man 
what  drives  her  motor,  he  told  me " 

"  You  should  n't  have  listened,  Jones." 

"  No,  sir.  In  course  not."  She  moved  to  the 
door.  "  When  does  Miss  Dene  come  down 
again,  sir?  Because  I  like  to  do  the  garding 
just  beforehand." 

She  receives  my  statement,  "  I  'm  not  quite 
sure  when  Miss  Dene  will  next  be  in  Carbridge," 
with  obvious  disbelief.  She  knows  I  know — to 
a  minute.  Jones  is  putting  two  and  two  to- 
gether, I  can  tell;  and  the  secret  won't  be  much 
of  a  secret  to  her,  when  it  comes  to  be  declared. 
That 's  one  disadvantage  of  old  servants ;  they 
become  so  much  part  of  one's  life  that  they  neces- 
sarily know  all  about  everything.  I  'm  sure 
Jones  regards  my  antiques  and  curios  and  books 
as  being  hers  also,  in  a  very  large  measure.    The 


Honesty's  Garden  313 

only  possession  we  do  not  fairly  share  is 
Keedels,  the  cat.  He  is  chiefly  Jones's — and 
(between  ourselves)  I  don't  much  mind. 

I  light  my  pipe,  and  smoke — and  dream:  the 
dream  that 's  a  secret,  of  course.  I  wonder  if  I 
shall  wake  up  presently  and  discover 

You  see,  I  feel  that  I  don't  deserve  it.  What 
have  I  done  to  be  so  opulently  rewarded?  I 
look  backward  to  perceive  myself  self-centred, 
morbid,  a  man  of  small  horizon,  a  fellow  who 
will  never  be  anybody  much — not  even  rich,  not 
even  a  great  collector.  I  shall  always  be  round- 
shouldered,  and  go  about  my  little  business  in  a 
little  way.  Round  shoulders,  however,  do  not 
"  show  up "  old  comfortable  clothes.  I  can't 
help  it — I  worship  my  old  clothes.  As  I  said 
just  now  of  Jones,  they  're  so  much  part  of  my- 
self. When  I'm  in  a  new  suit  I  feel  another 
person  entirely;  an  unpleasant,  conscious  crea- 
ture who  thinks  every  one  is  quizzing  him.  I 
should  n't  mind  writing  a  chapter  about  clothes, 
only  Carlyle  has  done  it  before  me.  Still,  if 
we  're  not  to  do  things  just  because  somebody 
has  done  them  before  us,  we  may  as  well  give 
up  being  alive.  And  that  is  our  sole  justifica- 
tion :  the  only  reason  why  we  should  be  tolerated 
at  all. 

Looking  back,  I  find  nothing  achieved.  I 
have  never  wilfully  injured  any  one,  perhaps; 


314  Honesty's  Garden 

and  have  attempted  to  do  as  I  would  be  done 
by 

But  there  is  no  credit  in  this.  It  would  hurt 
me  to  do  otherwise.  It  would  make  me  ashamed 
of  myself ;  and  I  must  suppose  I  am  not  extraor- 
dinarily sensitive.  No  one  wilfully  hurts  an- 
other. Occasionally  one  of  us  may  be  a  trifle 
forgetful;  may  not  be  quite  so  alert  as  usual. 
Then,  unconsciously,  injury  is  done. 

I  continue  to  sum  myself  up,  seeking  dili- 
gently for  my  virtues — and  my  works.  There 
are  a  few  books  above  my  name — the  titles  of 
them,  I  mean.  The  books  (save  those  copies 
naturally  on  my  own  shelves)  have  been 
"  pulped "  long  ago.  Throughout  I  have  been 
consistently  selfish  as  regards  Honesty's  garden. 
I  did  not  intend  it  for  Baillie — although  I  might 
have  brought  myself  to  the  ordinary  decency  of 
giving  it  to  him,  had  Honesty  loved  the  lad. 

It  was  because  I  suspected  that  she  did  n't ; 
and  because  I  meanly  desired  her  (in  that  back- 
stairs way  I  have  detected  in  myself  once  or 
twice),  that  I  bought  the  garden.  Duplicity; 
worse.  My  dear  Swift  (I  must  call  you  dear, 
since  surely  no  one  else  will  be  so  indulgent!) 
you  are  a  fraud!  A  deceiver,  an  arch  self- 
deceiver. 

Sacrifice?  You  don't  know  even  the  rudi- 
ments of  sacrifice.     Billy  could  teach  you.    You 


Honesty's  Garden  315 

have  never  had  to  screw  and  scrape  to  make 
both  ends  outwardly  meet.  It 's  tragedy — when 
poverty  must  be  respectable.  One  hears  of  it 
sometimes;  not  often.  The  true  martyrs  are 
those  who  do  not  complain. 

On  your  knees,  then,  my  dear  Swift.  The 
most  beautiful  story  in  the  world  has  chosen  you 
for  its  "  hero."  And  being  a  hero — mind  you 
don't  let  folk  find  you  out! 

Jones  taps:  the  last  post  has  arrived.  I 
did  n't  even  hear  the  man  knock.  "  You  been 
asleep,  sir,"  says  Jones  denouncingly.  "  Your 
pipe  's  on  the  floor.  Might  have  burnt  a  'ole  in 
the  rug.     Might  have  burnt  the  'ouse  down." 

A  letter  from  Honesty.  So  soon  as  I  am 
alone  again  I  read  it ;  and  I — awake. 

It  was  only  a  dream.  Foolish  of  me  to  have 
imagined  it  could  ever  be  reality.  Poor  child, 
poor  child ! 

"  Forgive  me — if  you  can.  It  was  wicked  of 
me.  You  are  so  good,  so  considerate;  I  ought 
not  to  count  so  much  on  that.  You  want  every- 
body to  be  happy — that  is  why  I  cannot  forgive 
myself.  I  have  had  a  bad  time  of  it  lately  with 
my  thoughts;  please  do  not  think  too  hardly  of 
me.     I  know  you  will  understand " 

Enclosed  is  my  signet  ring;  wrapped  about 
with  tissue  paper  to  make  it  less  obvious.  I 
gave  it  to  her — last  Sundav? 


316  Honesty's  Garden 

Is  it  so  long  ago?     Not  yet  a  week? 

Troubles  never  come  singly,  they  say.  This 
post  has  brought  me,  bad,  bad  news.  I  can  face 
the  rest  though.  What  are  wounds  to  vanity  but 
vanity? 

The  Colosseum  has  no  further  use  for  my 
services  as  sub-editor.  Carruthers  writes  me  a 
very  decent  letter,  covering  the  directors'  formal 
regrets.  He  tries  to  soften  the  blow.  I  will 
not  omit  to  thank  Carruthers.  He  is  not  to 
blame. 

I  must  answer  Honesty.  Somehow  I  don't 
seem  to  care  much  about  the  Colosseum. 

The  nights  are  growing  chilly.  One  soon  gets 
tired,  and  cold,  in  October.  Jones  should  start 
the  fires.     I  must  speak  to  her. 

In  Paradise  Street,  last  Sunday,  we  sat  before 
a  fire.  In  the  afternoon,  too.  In  the  heart  of 
that  fire  I  fancied  that  I  read  my  fortune,  read- 
ing my  own  heart  all  the  while.  A  fire  that 
burned  so  brightly  could  not,  of  course,  burn 
for  long.  It — died  down,  unnoticed  either  by 
Honesty  or  myself. 

It  lasted  long  enough,  shall  I  say?  No,  for 
that  were  a  bitter  thought  and  unworthy.  Lord, 
keep  my  memory  green — that  I  may,  at  the  least, 
be  grateful.  .  .  .  Honesty  must  never  guess  my 
pain — pity  is  not  akin  to  the  love  I  wish  her 


Honesty's  Garden  3J7 

to  know.  Like  the  poor  folk,  I  too  must  make 
both  ends  meet  outwardly — must  seem  the  same, 
must  hide,  even  from  myself,  all  that  I  feel. 
After  all,  I  shall  not  be  much  more  alone  than 
before. 

False,  false!  I  have  not  been  alone — until 
to-night.  Until  to-night  I  have  always  had  my 
dreams. 


CHAPTEE  XXXII 

I  have  drawn  up  a  deed  of  gift  by  which 
the  Home  will  be  restored  to  its  rightful  owner. 
The  Haven  will  go  to  those  others — poor  wee 
mites,  it  will  be  a  quiet  happiness  to  me  to 
know  that,  at  last,  I  have  been  of  some  use.  I 
shall  take  my  books  and  my  treasures  to  a  small 
flat  in  London ;  and  shall  then  work  hard 

Not  to  forget.  I  do  not  want  to  forget.  All 
the  best  of  one  dies  when  one  forgets. 

In  my  mind  I  have  planned  this:  that  the 
Haven  shall  become  the  Play  House  for  Little 
Cripples,  even  as  that  good  fellow  the  vicar  of 
Carbridge  desires.  I  shall  arrange  terms  not 
too  onerous,  and  shall  give  what  I  can — only 
stipulating  that,  since  the  Play  House  will  need 
a  matron,  I  shall  be  allowed  to  make  the  first 
nomination. 

So,  if  Honesty  will  go  back  to  her  garden 
she  will  find  employment  at  her  gate. 

I  should  like  Billy  to  help  Honesty  keep 
house,  until  the  Only  Prince  shall  appear. 

But  I  cannot  part  with  Jones.  I  have  tried 
318 


Honesty's  Garden  3*9 

hard  to  make  myself  add  Jones  to  the  Home  in 
conjunction  with  Billy.  It  cannot  be  done.  She 
must  come  to  London  with  me,  and  housekeep 
yet.     I  will  even  welcome  Keedels. 

Because,  whilst  I  have  Jones,  I  have  some 
excuse  for  still  keeping  in  touch  with  Carbridge. 
She  has  her  interests  there,  and  will  want  to 
call  at  the  Home  sometimes. 

Ah,  how  we  hug  our  hopes!  In  that  respect 
we  are  very  frail.  I  own  it.  I  hope — against 
hope.  It  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  some- 
thing more  than  gratitude  that  day  when 
Honesty  came  to  me. 

Her  letter  I  have  answered.  How,  I  cannot 
remember. 

Also,  Carruthers  had  to  be  faced ;  for  the  new 
editor  and  sub-editor  take  their  posts  at  once 
on  the  Colosseum.  They  are  keen,  shrewd  men 
— so  far  I  can  judge,  and  one  hails  from  New 
York  City.  His  methods  (to  me)  appear  par- 
alysingly  upheaving.  However,  we  shall  see 
what  we  shall  see. 

The  directors  were  extremely  polite;  trust 
that  I  would  still  continue  a  contributor — and 
granted  me  six  months'  salary  in  lieu  of  notice. 
They  further  offered  to  buy,  at  a  trifle  over 
present  value,  such  of  my  shares  in  the 
Colosseum,  Ltd.,  as  I  might  care  to  sell. 

This  offer  remains  open  for  a  month,  and  I 


320  Honesty's  Garden 

shall  consider  it  carefully.  The  New  York  City 
gentleman  rather  inspires  me  to  accept.  I  am 
not  fond  of  earthquakes,  and  have  an  inward 
conviction  that  the  directors  are  making  a  big 
mistake. 

They  're  getting  rid  of  me,  for  instance. 

They  have  all  been  very  worrying — these  busi- 
ness bothers.  But  they  have  served  to  distract 
my  thoughts. 

•         •••••• 

A  characteristic  note  from  Gatherway  this 
morning.  Can't  you  imagine  friend  Gatherway 
writing  this: 

"  Dear  Swift  :  I  hear  you  're  making  a 
change,  and  so  likely  to  be  able  to  consider  a 
notion  of  mine.  Why  shouldn't  I  have  a  Lon- 
don branch  of  my  business?  Affairs  are  cer- 
tainly flourishing,  and  we  may  as  well  take  'em 
at  the  flood.  I  should  n't  pay  you  ten  thousand 
a  year  for  taking  down  the  London  shutters, 
and  sorting  the  mail  bag;  but  if  you  can  con- 
ceive some  other  arrangement  to  our  mutual  ad- 
vantage, please  let  me  hear.  By  the  way  I  wish 
you  to  act  as  best  man  for  me — presently. 
You  're  not  married,  are  you? 

"  Yours,  etc., 
"  Gatherway,  Edinburgh." 


Honesty's  Garden  321 

He  signs  just  as  though  he  were  a  peer,  or  a 
bishop.  No  initial,  and  "  Edinburgh  "  scribbled 
after  his  name  just  as  if  it  belonged  to  him. 
But  it 's  a  heartening  letter,  coming  at  this 
juncture. 

Almost  following  it,  behold  the  motor-car  and 
the  Aunt  Sophie  squadron!  I  rushed  hatless 
and  astonished,  into  the  garden  and  my  aunt's 
outstretched  arms.  "  Thank  goodness,  Mortimer, 
we  're  not  too  late !  " 

"  What  for?  "  I  wondered,  audibly. 

"Your  Uncle  Duveen  couldn't  sleep  all 
night  for  thinking  of  you.  My  dear  boy,  it 's 
scandalous  and  disgraceful — and  what  I  ex- 
pected! We  only  heard  the  news  yesterday: 
of  course,  you  '11  bring  an  action  against 
them?" 

"  I  will — when  you  tell  me  who  they  are  and 
what  they  've  done." 

Eva  put  in  her  word,  "  I  think  it  so  brave  of 
you,  Cousin  Mortimer;  so  awfully  brave.  We 
are  so  indignant.  Kit  said  that  Mr.  Gatherway 
was  in  a  frightful  rage  about  it.  He's  coming 
up  to  London  this  very  week." 

"  To  see  me?  "  I  asked,  beginning  to  fit  the 
puzzle  together.     What  an  impulsive  ass 

It  was  rude  of  me  to  think  of  Gatherway  like 
that.  He  means  it  for  the  best;  but  I  can't 
allow  him  to  sweep  up  the  Colosseum.    I  have  n't 


322  Honesty's  Garden 

settled  what  to  do  with  those  shares  of  mine 
yet.  If  I  sell  them,  Gatherway  can  do  his  worst. 
I  shall  rather  enjoy  the  spectacle;  especially 
if  Edinburgh  proves  obnoxious  to  New  York 
City 

That 's  uncharitable,  and  revengeful.  But 
Aunt  Sophie  having  despatched  the  weedy  youth 
to  my  kitchen,  leads  me  back  indoors  to  my 
half-finished  breakfast.  Eva  remains  in  the 
garden,  ostensibly  to  watch  the  motor.  My 
mirror  shows  me,  later  on,  that  Baillie  has 
paused  at  the  gate. 

My  worthy  aunt  desires  to  know  All  About 
It.  I  hasten  to  explain  that  the  directors  have 
deemed  it  expedient  to  experiment  with  the 
Colosseum  on  American-Irish  lines;  that  they 
are  quite  within  their  rights,  legally  and  morally, 
in  doing  so.  As  long  as  they  enjoy  the  con- 
fidence of  the  shareholders. 

"But  do  they,  Mortimer?  Aren't  you  a 
shareholder?    Can't  you  turn  them  all  out?  " 

"  With  the  assistance  and  concurrence  of  the 
hundred-odd  other  shareholders,  no  doubt  I 
could  turn  them  all  out,"  I  assure  her. 

"  Then  wThy  not  do  it?  I  would  fling  them 
all  into  the  middle  of  the  road " 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  gutter?"  asks 
Eva,  suddenly  appearing  in  the  doorway.  She 
is  slightly  flushed,  but  still  most  refreshingly 


Honesty's  Garden  323 

slangy.  "  Would  n't  the  gutter  be  handier — 
and  less  of  a  fag?  " 

Behind  her  we  observe  Baillie.  He  smiles 
deprecatingly.  "  I  thocht  I  would  gie  ye  a  peep, 
Swift,"  he  announces.  "  But,  mayhap,  ye  will 
not  be  for  London  this  day?  " 

"  I  shan't  go  up  until  the  ten-thirty,"  I  inform 
him. 

Aunt  Sophie  paralyses  the  unfortunate  Jock. 
"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Baillie ;  this  is  a  delight- 
ful surprise !  I  imagined  you  would  be  in  town 
long  before  we  could  get  down  to  Carbridge. 
My  husband  still  has  to  breakfast  at  eight — 
every  morning  of  his  life.  But,  of  course,  he 
is  n't  a  millionaire." 

"  Father  never  starts  till  after  nine,"  remarks 
the  irrepressible  Eva,  "  and  even  then  we  don't 
know  that  he  goes  straight  to  the  office.  How- 
ever, if  Cousin  Mortimer  does  n't  propose  earn- 
ing his  daily  bread  until  the  ten-thirty,  possibly 
he  would  like  to  escort  you,  mother  mine?  You 
must  have  a  lot  to  talk  over;  and  I  should  only 
be  more  in  the  way  than  usual." 

"  I  will  look  after  you,  aunt,  with  pleasure," 
I  say,  forthwith. 

"Love  to  all,  then,"  Eva  interrupts  me,  im- 
mediately preparing  to  leave  us.  She  glances 
at  Baillie  as  she  speaks.  Her  observation  evi- 
dently includes  him,  although  not  in  a  valedic- 


324  Honesty's  Garden 

tory  sense.  "  Could  I  drop  you  anywhere?  At 
the  station,  I  mean?  Mother  evidently  desires 
me  to  rip  the  motor  home — all  by  my  own  little 
self." 

"  I  don't  think — "  begins  Aunt  Sophie.  But 
Eva  and  Jock  have  already  departed.  We  hear 
the  motor  toot-tooting  loudly  for  the  gardener's 
son,  who  rushes  down  the  garden  with  his  mouth 
pretty  obviously  full  of  breakfast.  The  trio  em- 
bark, furiously  heralding  the  fact — then  whirl 
away  in  a  highly  aromatic  cloud  of  dust. 

"  You  must  tell  me  everything,  Mortimer," 
says  my  aunt,  returning  to  her  seat.  "  First  of 
all,  give  me  a  cup  of  tea — if  it  is  n't  quite  cold ; 
then  light  your  pipe,  sit  down,  and  begin  abso- 
lutely at  the  beginning." 

"  There  is  little  to  tell — beyond  the  bare  fact 
of  my  retirement  from  the  Colosseum.  That 
will  take  place  almost  directly.  Gatherway 
offers  me  another  billet — but  you  don't  believe 
in  Gatherway,  do  you?  " 

"  I  invariably  believe  in  success,  Mortimer. 
That  proves  a  man,  to  my  mind.  Proves  him, 
and  improves  him." 

I  make  a  gesture  of  dissent.  My  aunt  is  em- 
phatic. "  Success  is  the  hall-mark  which  shows 
that  you  are  dealing  with  sterling  metal.  In 
these  days,  my  dear  Mortimer,  any  one — literally 
any  one — can  be  clever.     There  's  nothing  in  it. 


Honesty's  Garden  325 

Free  education  is  provided,  free  breakfast — 
really,  this  tea  of  yours  is  shockingly  inferior — • 
raw  material  is  fashioned  into  brains  at  no  cost 
at  all  to  the  individual.  With  a  result  that  the 
average  person  of  to-day  is  considerably  above 
the  standard  of  our  grandfather's  generation. 
My  maid  can  play  the  piano,  and  write  a  menu. 
My  gardener  can  hoe  a  row  of  potatoes,  or  take 
off  a  Michelin  tire  without  swearing.  My  cook 
is  simply  a  mass  of  palpitating  intelligence. 
I  am  positively  afraid  of  her." 

Aunt  Sophie  pauses,  collects  herself.  She 
continues,  "  Yes,  Mortimer,  education  is  the 
curse  of  the  age.  All  the  young  men  have  mi- 
grated to  the  towns ;  all  of  them  have  become  too 
superior  to  be  anything  lower  than  a  clerk;  the 
country  is  neglected  and  starving — very  much 
like  your  poor  aunt.  I  '11  have  just  the  wee-est 
slice  of  that  ham,  it  looks  very  good." 

"  Jones  shall  make  you  some  fresh  tea,"  I 
say,  and  ring  the  bell. 

When  we  are  alone  again  the  lecture  is  re- 
sumed. "  There 's  Jones,  now.  I  expect  she 
will  be  leaving  you  one  of  these  fine  days.  There 
are  no  servants  in  England,  Mortimer.  They  're 
all  of  them  young  ladies.  Lady-companions, 
lady-helps,  typists,  waitresses:  anything  to  get 
their  evenings  free,  and  be  misses " 

"  And  Mrs.,"  I  suggest. 


326  Honesty's  Garden 

"  If  they  can.  And  they  're  clever  enough 
even  for  that.  A  woman  who  can  catch  a  man 
in  these  hard  times  deserves  her  friend's  con- 
gratulations. That 's  success,  Mortimer.  Which 
brings  me  back  to  Mr.  Gatherway.  I  originally 
misunderstood  him.  There  you  are.  I  admit 
it.  Now,  I  understand — and  appreciate  him. 
While  you  have  been  dreaming  he  has  secured 
the  prize." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  have  won  it?  Her, 
I  mean?  " 

"  Did  you  try?  "  retorts  my  aunt.  "  Mortimer, 
you  're  incorrigible !  Why  will  you  persist  in 
dreaming?     When  will  you  awake?  " 

"  When  all  the  busy  people  are  asleep,  I  ex- 
pect. So  look  out !  "  I  shook  my  finger  at  her. 
"  My  dear  aunt,  allow  me  to  ask  you  a  riddle 
— in  return  for  the  conundrum  with  which  you 
have  just  posed  me.     What  is  happiness?  " 

"  To  love,  and  be  beloved." 

"  Exactly."  I  rose,  came  to  her  side,  and 
kissed  her  gently  on  the  forehead.  "  That 's 
the  kind  of  success  I  want,"  I  told  her. 

Aunt  Sophie  was  quiet — for  almost  two 
seconds.  Then :  "  That 's  very  pretty,  even  if 
it's  not  very  practical,"  she  decided.  "  I  suppose 
it  is  also  a  hint  that  I  'm  not  to  ask  any  more 
questions.  Mortimer,  I  desire  you  to  know  it 
is  your  uncle's  wish — and  my  own — that,  in  the 


Honesty's  Garden  327 

event  of  your  being  in  any  difficulty  " — she  hesi- 
tated. "  My  dear,  dear  boy,  you  will  bring  your 
troubles  to  us,  won't  you?  We  regard  you  as 
a  son ;  and,  indeed,  we  are  very  anxious." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  I  said,  kissing  her  again. 
"  You  are  answering  my  riddle  in  full." 
•         •••••• 

I  wasn't  sorry  to  get  back  home  again  to- 
night. Everything  is  virtually  cleared  up  at  the 
Colosseum,  I  have  said  "  good-bye "  to  Carr: 
A  kind-hearted,  sympathetic  lad,  that. 

My  dinner  seemed  unusually  lonely.  Some- 
how or  other,  I  did  n't  feel  very  cheerful.  I 
know  things  are  for  the  best;  that  they  happen 
that  way.  Does  life  teach  anything  else,  I 
wonder?  It  seems  to  me  that  one  has  to  wait 
a  long  time — to  gain  very  little. 

Jones  appeared  depressed;  but  it's  the  fall 
of  the  year.  The  Undertaker  had  called  during 
my  absence;  and  he  generally  contrives  to  en- 
viron gloom.  The  plans  for  the  Play  House 
progress,  however.  Presently,  I  shall  have  to 
see  about  the  appointment  of  matron.  The  pro- 
moters of  the  scheme  will  agree  to  leave  me  that 
duty. 

In  clearing  away  the  dinner  Jones  raised  a 
small  discussion — in  her  usual  style.  "  We  had 
visitors  early  to-day,"  she  remarked.  "  They 
ketched  me  in  my  cottons," 


328  Honesty's  Garden 

"  Mrs.  Duveen  was  very  severe  on  our  tea,"  I 
said,  preparing  to  fill  my  pipe.  "  By  the  way, 
Jones,  where  do  we  get  our  tea?  " 

"Hoy's  done  the  last  lot,  sir.  I  generally 
goes  to  the  Colonial  for  it.  But  they're  so  in- 
dependent like,  they  won't  leave  it  without  the 
money.  I  was  that  vexed  the  other  day — I 
had  n't  got  no  change,  and  the  boy  he  would  n't 
leave  nothing.  So  I  told  him  straight  that  we  'd 
go  somewhere  else.     Aggravating  imperence." 

"  It 's  their  system,  I  believe.  It  was  n't  the 
boy's  fault." 

"They  ought  to  know  where  their  money's 
all  right,  and  where  it  isn't,"  argued  Jones. 
"  They  've  served  us  for  ever  so  long.  I  don't 
care  for  Hoy,  either.  He  thinks  too  much  of 
hisself." 

"  I  don't  much  care  for  his  tea,"  I  confessed. 

"  So  dear,  too.  He  knows  how  to  charge,  that 
there  Hoy.  I  told  his  young  man  what  I 
thought  of  him."  Jones  remained,  hovering. 
"  Did  you  know  it  was  raining,  sir?  " 

I  expressed  surprise. 

"  Ever  so  hard,"  continued  Jones,  more  cheer- 
fully, "  Keedels  had  to  stay  in.  He  don't  like 
that." 

She  fidgeted  with  her  apron.  "  Mrs.  Duveen 
was  rather  in  a  way,  was  n't  she,  sir?  " 

"  She  was  n't  in  my  way,"  I  joked,  feebly. 


Honesty's  Garden  329 

Jones  did  not  respond  suitably.  Instead,  she 
went  on  in  a  more  than  ever  Jonesian  manner: 
"  I  hope  you  will  excuse  the  liberty,  sir,  but  I 
been  thinking  Mrs.  Duveen  brought  you  bad 
news,  sir.  I  'm  sure  I  trust  you  '11  forgive  the 
liberty." 

"  Mrs.  Duveen  did  n't  bring  me  any  bad  news, 
Jones " 

"  Then  it  was  here  before  she  come,"  inter- 
posed my  faithful  old  friend.  "  I  know  it 's  no 
business  of  mine — and  yet  it  is,  in  a  sort  of 
fashion.  It's  been  in  the  air  like,  all  day  long; 
and  all  the  last  week.  I  knowed  it  direckly  I 
heard  you  was  going  to  leave  the  Haven."  She 
turned  her  back  upon  me,  and  resolutely  fell  to 
dusting  the  Adam  sideboard  with  her  apron. 
"  In  course,  it  is  a  liberty,  put  it  how  you  will, 
and  I  'm  sure  I  humbly  begs  your  pardon,  sir. 
But  I  wanted  to  say  that  it  won't  make  no  dif- 
ference to  me,  if  you  '11  only  let  me  stay  on. 
A  good  home  and  a  kind  home  is  worth  every- 
thing" 

"  My  dear  girl — "  I  began,  dumbfounded.  She 
turned  round  at  once;  and,  for  a  moment,  her 
eyes  challenged  mine.  "  I  ain't  going  to  go,  so 
there !  "  she  cried,  literally.  "  I  won't  go.  And 
if  you  've  lost  all  your  money,  I  '11  work  for 
n-n-nothing!  It  would  fair  break  my  heart." 
Her  apron  went  up  to  her  eyes,  and  she  burst 


330  Honesty's  Garden 

into  a  storm  of  weeping.  "  There  's  that — there 
cat — too.  He  's  all  I  got — to  love — in  the  world. 
He  's  all  I  got.     I  could  n't — leave  him." 

"  You  shan't,"  I  said,  firmly.  "  I  have  n't  lost 
quite  all  my  money.  I  'm  certain  there  will  be 
enough;  for  myself,  for  you — and  a  little  over 
for  Keedels.  Now,  don't  be  a  silly  girl.  It's 
ridiculous  of  you  to  go  on  like  this.  I  can't 
imagine  what  can  have  put  such  nonsensical 
ideas  into  your  head.  Listen ;  some  one  's  at  the 
door.  Kun  along  into  the  kitchen,  I  '11  go  my- 
self. I  'm  sure  I  'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Jones : 
the  place  would  n't  be  home  without  you — and 
Keedels.     We  must  n't  forget  Keedles !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Blank  astonishment,  giving  way  to  alarm, 
when  at  length  I  opened  the  front  door.  I  be- 
held, forlorn  and  dripping,  the  small  but  valiant 
Billy. 

As  I  exclaimed,  she  hopped  on  to  the  doormat. 
She  shook  herself  like  a  soused  bird,  and  hopped 
again.  "  I  had  to  come  myself  because  there 
wasn't  any  other  way,"  she  remarked  breath- 
lessly. "  I  nearly  got  lost  I  did.  Oo — don't  it 
rain." 

She  leaned  against  the  open  hall-door,  stork- 
like, still  on  one  leg.  "  You  don't  seem  very 
glad  to  see  me." 

I  put  out  my  hand,  with  some  welcome  on  my 
lips.  I  was  stricken  dumb  with  concern  for 
this  naughty  imp,  and  my  mind  was  working  in 
every  direction  to  guess  what  had  prompted  this 
utterly  unlooked-for  visit.  Next  instant  present 
things  sent  surmise  to  the  winds.  My  little 
stork  had  ventured  to  put  both  legs  to  the 
ground. 

331 


332  Honesty's  Garden 

I  managed  to  catch  her;  she  fell  with  agonised 
whimperings  into  my  arms,  continued  until  I 
had  carried  her,  helter-skelter,  to  my  den.  As 
I  laid  her  on  the  couch  she  gave  a  tiny  gasp,  as 
if  of  relief;  then  became  ominously  quiet.  Jones 
came  rushing  to  the  rescue,  in  answer  to  my 
frantic  call. 

"  It 's  her  foot,  I  expect.  Quick !  off  with  her 
boots.  I  expect  her  ankle  has  got  twisted.  No, 
I  '11  do  it.  Eun  for  the  doctor.  Quick  as  you 
can." 

Jones,  all  alert  now,  and  quite  her  useful  self 
again,  left  me  with  Billy.  I  whipped  off  the 
child's  boots  (those  dreadful  old  ones  again,  I 
noticed),  and  made  some  attempt  to  bring  her 
round.     She  had  fainted  in  dead  earnest. 

I  managed  to  force  a  little  brandy  between 
her  cold  lips,  and  pillowed  her  into  some  seem- 
ing of  comfort.  Then  sharp  application  of  cold 
water  upon  her  forehead  suddenly  restored  ani- 
mation. She  gasped  once,  twice,  and  decided  to 
go  on  with  the  business  of  life. 

Her  feet  were  icy,  but  I  knew  a  natural  magic 
for  making  them  warm.  I  drew  away  her  stock- 
ings from  under  her  convulsive  little  toes,  then 
chafed  each  frozen  foot  cleverly  between  my 
hands  as  I  knelt  beside  her.  "  Oo — that 's  nice," 
she  sighed. 

"  Any  pain,  Billy?  " 


Honesty's  Garden  333 

"  Not  now.  It  was  when  I  put  my  foot  down. 
I  could  n't  keep  hopping — "  She  closed  her  eyes. 
"  I  do  feel  so  sleepy,  I  do." 

"  Go  to  sleep  then.  I  '11  watch  over  you. 
Are  you  sure  you  have  n't  hurt  yourself?  " 

"  My  leg 's  bad  when  I  move.  I  '11  be  all  right 
in  a  minute  I  will.  Where  's  that  girl  of  yours? 
She  has  n't  gone  for  no  doctors?  " 

"  Of  course  not !  Let  me  get  this  wet  hat  off 
your  head.  There,  that 's  better.  What  beauti- 
ful hair  you  have,  Billy." 

"  I  don't  always  keep  it  in  a  pig-tail,  you 
know.  I  'm  getting  too  old."  She  wriggled  into 
a  sitting  posture.  "  I  had  to  come  myself  you 
know  because  she  was  crying  so.  It  fair  gave 
me  the  horrors  to  hear  her  last  night." 

"  Honesty?  " 

"  Miss  D.  It  woke  me  up.  It  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  when  everything  was  dark. 
I  wasn't  frightened  of  that  landing.  I  just 
creeped  out  and  into  her  bed.  She  thought  I 
was  a  ghost  she  did." 

"  Why  was  she  crying?  Did  she  tell  you?  " 
(My  heart  was  thumping  strangely,  strangely.) 

"  I  did  n't  want  her  to  tell  me.  It  was  all 
my  fault.  I  knew  why  she  was  crying.  Don't 
you?  " 

"  I  can  guess,  perhaps." 

"  No,  you  can't.     You  don't  never  guess  right. 


334  Honesty's  Garden 

She  was  crying  because  I  told  her  a  lot  of  lies. 
Orful  lies." 

"  Why  did  you  tell  her  lies,  Billy?  " 

"  Why  do  I  ever  do  mean  wicked  things? 
Because  I  'm  a  beast  that 's  why.  A  nasty  ugly 
little  beast." 

I  made  her  lie  down  again.  "  Never  mind. 
I  don't  think  you  a  beast;  and  you  are  certainly 
not  ugly.     Not  with  that  beautiful  hair." 

"  It 's  all  very  well  to  talk,"  she  snapped. 
"  That  's  the  worst  of  you.  You  say  so  many 
nice  things  that  folk  believes  you.  I  don't  believe 
you.     There ! " 

"  I  'm  prepared  to  admit  you  're  little,  my 
dear.  It  was  only  the  ugly  and  the  other  things 
that  I  questioned.     Will  that  pacify  you?  " 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  the  lies  I  told.  Oo — I 
did  let  myself  go!  Because  I  see  how  it  was 
going  to  be.  From  the  first  I  see  it.  So  I  did 
my  best,  and  I  did  my  worst.  I  said  you  did  n't 
really  care  a  bit.  Not  in  the  right  style,  I  said. 
Only  because  you  were  kind-hearted,  and  could 
see  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  you " 

"Billy!" 

"  Yes  I  did.  And  worse !  And  worse !  I  said 
you  bought  her  house  to  sell  it  to  Mr.  Baillie; 
him  what  you  always  kept  trying  to  shove  in 
her  way.  I  said  no  man  what  really  truly  loved 
a  girl  would  even  pretend  to  want  another  man 


Honesty's  Garden  335 

to  have  her.  So  it  was  plain  you  did  n't  love 
her  at  all."  Billy  writhed  in  my  arms  and  would 
not  keep  still.     "Now  aren't  I  a  beast?" 

"  She  did  n't  believe  it,"  I  said,  softly.  "  She 
wouldn't  misunderstand  me  like  that." 

"  Perhaps  she  did  n't  believe  it,  right  down 
deep,  but  on  the  top  she  had  to.  Girls  don't  like 
a  man  to  be  gentle  and — molly-coddling  like 
you  are  sometimes.  They  like  adventures  and 
fighting." 

"  That 's  because  you  like  adventures."  My 
heart  was  quieter.  I  knew  now.  I  was  blind 
no  longer. 

"And  then  when  it  wasn't  any  use  that 
Baillie — Oo — I  hate  him  worse  than  I  hate  you." 

"  You  don't  hate  me,  Billy." 

"  I  do,  I  do !  You  're  going  to  take  her  from 
me  you  are.     After  all  I  done." 

"  I  won't  part  you,  my  dear.  It  would  be 
sorry  work  parting  true  friends." 

"  That 's  what  you  say  now."  She  fixed  me 
with  another,  fiercer  question.  "  Did  n't  you 
ask  her  just  because  Mr.  Baillie  would  n't?  " 

"  You  told  Honesty  that?  * 

"  Now  you  're  angry  you  are.  Why  don't  you 
hit  me?  I  want  you  to  hit  me.  That 's  why  I 
came  down  all  through  the  rain.  I  got  to  be 
what-d'you-call-'em,  and  clap  my  hands  and 
make  it  all  come  right,  now  that  I  nearly  made 


336  Honesty's  Garden 

it  all  come  wrong.  She  cried  so  she  did.  She 
did  n't  want  to  believe  what  I  said." 

"And  she  didn't  believe,  Billy.  Not  right 
down  deep." 

"  She  wrote  that  letter !  That  was  to  see  what 
you  'd  do.  I  know.  She  won't  own  it ;  but  us 
girls  are  all  alike.  We  want  telling  and  telling 
over  and  over  again ;  and  yet  it  don't  seem  true. 
Because  it 's  too  wonderful  to  be  true.  Do  you 
feel  like  that?  " 

I  looked  steadfastly  into  those  bright,  eager 
eyes,  unclouded  for  the  instant  by  any  thought 
of  self.  "  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart  and  all 
my  soul,  Billy.  I  dare  not  even  let  God  know 
how  much  I  love  her.  I  would  sacrifice  every- 
thing that  she  might  be  happy.  How  can  I  be 
so  vain  as  to  think  that  my  happiness  will  be 
hers  as  well?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know  it  would,"  said  she  mis- 
erably. "  You  ought  n't  to  want  no  one  to  tell 
you." 

In  my  heart  was  that  peace  which  passeth  all 
understanding.  I  think  that  the  child  knew  it, 
and  the  fires  of  her  jealousy  flamed  upward 
again.  "  You  don't  deserve  her  you  don't.  I 
wonder  what  she  can  see  in  you.  You  're  old 
you  are." 

I  suppose  I  smiled  at  this.  Her  face  grew 
pinched,   and    her    expression    was   not    pretty. 


Honesty's  Garden  337 

Then  she  softened  again,  and  put  out  her  arms 
to  me.  "  I — hate  you,"  she  whimpered.  "  From 
the  first  I  told  you  I  did." 

"  Never  mind  all  that,"  I  murmured  sooth- 
ingly. "  Forget  it,  Billy.  We  're  friends  again, 
all  of  us.     That 's  the  great  thing." 

"  I  have  n't  told  you  all.  There  was  a  letter. 
You  will  hate  me  now." 

"  You  have  brought  me  such  good  news,  Billy, 
that  I  can  forgive  anything." 

"  You  wait.  There  was  a  letter  addressed  to 
Mr.  Mortimer  S " 

"  I  know.     It  got  burnt." 

"  Yes  it  got  burnt."  She  closed  her  eyes  reso- 
lutely, and  remained  unresponsive  in  my  arms. 
"  I— burnt  it." 

"  You?  " 

"  Because  I  hated  you  even  then.  She  used 
to  talk  about  you.  So  I  burnt  the  old  letter 
after  she  wrote  it.     I  did  it  quite  secret." 

"  And  Honesty  thought  I  had  had  it?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  wanted  her  to  think  you 
did  n't  care.  So  I  said  I  'd  post  it ;  and  she  give 
it  me.  And  I  kept  it  till  she  was  gone.  Then 
I  just  chucked  it  in  the  fire." 

"  Does  Honesty  still  think  I  had  her  letter, 
Billy?  " 

"  Now  you  're  wild !  I  don't  care.  Yes,  she 
does." 


338  Honesty's  Garden 


"  You  must  tell  her- 


"  I  shan't.  I  won't !  If  you  tell  her  I  '11  kill 
you." 

"  It 's  only  fair,  Billy.  You  must  tell  her." 
She  opened  her  eyes  and  glared  defiantly  into 
mine.  Her  glance  wavered,  tears  trembled  in  it. 
"  You  tell  her,  Mortimer,"  she  whispered,  chok- 
ingly. "  And  Mortimer,  dear — don't  let  her  hate 
me.  Because  I  love  her  too.  I  do  love  her,  so 
much,  so  much." 

Can  you  see  me  hurrying  through  the  rain, 
and  not  knowing  that  it  rained  at  all?  Would 
you  not  have  wished  for  the  wings  of  Icarus; 
and  would  you  not  have  flown  instantly  towards 
the  sun  also? 

Ah,  well-named  little  mean  street!  Paradise 
was  waiting  for  me  there,  behind  those  stunted, 
sturdy,  leafless  poplars.  I  cannot  tell  you  all 
that  I  said,  all  that  happened.  Only  I  know 
that  at  last  I  said  the  right  thing;  that  heart 
spoke  to  heart;  that  there  was  no  shadow  be- 
tween us.  So  long  as  we  live  no  shadow  shall 
come  between  us. 

There  are  some  matters  quite  sacred.  They 
must  stay  for  ever  in  that  holy  of  all  holies, 
for  each  of  us  alone  to  know.  Such  a  wonder- 
ful secret  as  mine  comes  but  once  in  a  life ;  but, 
having  come,  remains  until  the  end.     It  is  this 


Honesty's  Garden  339 

that  is  the  better  part  of  us;  the  part  which 
is  divine. 

As  magic,  the  rain  had  ceased.  The  night 
was  calm;  there  were  stars.  We  found  Billy 
sleeping  happily  in  the  arms  of  my  patient 
and  faithful  Jones.  Upon  the  hearthrug  was 
Keedels,  purring  before  the  clear  heat  of  an  un- 
usual fire.  Whilst  the  mother  knelt  by  her 
child,  Honesty  and  I  stood  apart. 

Billy  stirred,  awoke.  She  hugged  her  mother 
close,  then  espied  us.  Honesty  came  to  her ;  but 
Billy  slipped  out  of  the  loving  arms  which  sought 
to  pinion  her,  and  showed  that  she  was  unhurt 
by  reaching  Honesty  in  two  amazing  hops,  and 
one  little  skip. 

"  The  doctor  he  says  there  is  n't  nothing  the 
matter  and  my  leg  isn't  broke  again  so  there. 
You  ask  him."  Billy's  sweeping  gestures  impli- 
cated me.  "  He  would  n't  go  to  fetch  you  until 
the  old  doctor  had  been  he  is  a  worry  that  Mor- 
timer. I  just  got  to  stay  here  for  a  week — and 
so  has  she."  Honesty  was  not  permitted  even 
to  expostulate  at  this.  "  He  can  go  back  home 
with  mother  presently  and  tell  father  I  'm  all 
right." 

No  one  venturing  to  offer  an  amendment 
caused  Billy  to  suggest  one  herself :  "  Perhaps 
I  had  n't  better  stay  quite  a  week  in  case  father 
wants  me.     But  she  must  stay  because  it  '11  do 


340  Honesty's  Garden 

her  good.  Mortimer  wants  you  to  help  him 
move,"  she  explained,  as  an  after-thought;  and 
I  guessed  Jones  had  been  talking. 

It  seemed  a  good  plan  that  Billy  should  stay 
at  the  Haven.  Indeed,  we  did  not  quite  see 
how  we  could  safely  convey  her  home.  She  was 
formally  consigned  to  Jones,  therefore,  so  soon 
as  she  had  again  fallen  asleep ;  and  Honesty  and 
I  went  back  to  Paradise  (need  I  write  street? 
It  was  Paradise  to  me  in  brief!)  to  bear  the 
latest  news  to  Mr.  Jolliman.  Mrs.  Jolliman  had 
a  natural  desire  to  stay  with  Billy,  if  this  could 
be  arranged,  for  the  night  at  least;  and  we  were 
her  ambassadors  to  her  lawful  (and  awful)  lord. 

It  was  one  of  his  early  departure  weeks;  and, 
in  any  case,  he  would  have  to  leave  Clapham  at 
three  in  the  morning.  It  was  the  ten  o'clock 
up-train  which  we  contrived  to  catch;  so  that 
there  was  not  much  in  it,  one  way  or  the  other. 

We  managed  to  secure  a  compartment  in  the 
train  to  ourselves.  At  least,  I  managed  it. 
Credit  should  be  given  where  credit  is  due.  I 
ventured  to  produce,  from  between  the  leaves  of 
my  pocket-book,  a  much-pressed,  queer  little  one- 
time flower — a  columbine.  "  That 's  for  re- 
membrance," I  told  Honesty. 

Her  fingers  had  been  in  mine,  but  now  she 
drew  them  away — to  find  her  purse.  She  opened 
it.     "  I  must  pay  you — in  kind,"  she  whispered, 


Honesty's  Garden  341 

softly.  "  That  is  the  only  way  I  can  ever  repay 
you." 

There  was  an  inner  compartment  to  the  purse, 
with  another  fastening.  A  place  to  store  gold 
— and  other  precious  matters.  If  one  has  no 
gold,  one  may  still  have  treasures.  Don't  you 
admit  that? 

Honesty  had  no  greater  treasure  than  a  with- 
ered sprig  of  white  heather — at  least,  so  she  said. 
I  was  very  fain  to  believe  her.  "  That 's  for 
luck,"  she  averred.  "  The  best  possible  good 
luck  in  the  world." 

Other  memories  came  before  us  at  sight  of 
that  faded  white  heather.  Have  I  not  said  that 
most  beautiful  things  are  sad?  Sorrow  is  with 
us  always;  and  this  is  only  right.  We  touch  the 
keys  of  joy,  but  the  black  notes  are  there,  too; 
and  without  them  how  can  we  expect  to  evoke 
the  more  exquisite  melodies? 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Have  you  ever  moved?  If  you  have  you  will 
readily  believe  with  me  that  a  life  can  be  lived 
in  a  single  day !  I  positively  had  not  the  slight- 
est notion  that  moving  was  such  a  business. 
Although  it  must  be  six — seven  months  ago,  the 
memory  of  that  great  upheaval  is  still  a  pang. 

The  Undertaker  deceived  me  altogether.  He 
declared,  solemnly  I  do  assure  you,  that  Messrs. 
Wright  and  Co.  could  recommend  a  firm  who 
would  move  us  "  in  a  jiffy."  The  Undertaker 
vowed  that  I  should  n't  even  suspect  I  was  mov- 
ing. He  covenanted  that  we  should  be  trans- 
lated from  the  Haven  to  the  Home  practically 
before  we  could  turn  round.  The  charge,  he 
was  encouraged  to  imagine,  would  be  almost 
nominal 

When  I  say  from  the  Haven  to  the  Home,  I 
am  not  strictly  in  order,  because  the  Haven  has 
moved  with  us.     In  fact,  it  went  first. 

A  certain  young  lady,  having  some  leisure 
from  her  duties  as  typist  in  general  to  a  certain 
gifted  author,  painted  out  (with  the  assistance 

342 


Honesty's  Garden  343 

of  the  Undertaker  aforesaid)  the  inscription  on 
one  gate,  and  I  screwed  it  in  (in  brass  letters) 
on  the  other. 

We  went  to  Devon,  of  course.  To  Lynmouth, 
equally  of  course.  Did  n't  I  say  I  could  n't  go 
anywhere  else  for  a  honeymoon?  Especially  in 
springtime,  when  trout  fishing  has  just  begun ! 

It  was  a  lover  and  his  lass — a  lover  not  half 
good  enough,  if  you  will — who  hand  in  hand 
climbed  the  path  to  Watersmeet,  and  onward  to 
Brendon ;  who  gathered  those  first  sweet  violets 
and  golden  primroses,  while  timid  ferns  were 
stretching  fragile  fronds  upward — to  find  out  if 
the  sun  were  really  awake  at  last.  A  lover  no 
longer  old,  if  you  please;  whose  round  shoul- 
ders were  making  desperate  and  not  altogether 
unsuccessful  efforts  to  square  themselves — be- 
cause the  lover  was  so  very  proud  of  his  lass; 
so  conceited  and  vain  of  his  wonderful  good 
fortune. 

The  trees  were  tenderly  green.  Even  the  oaks 
had  ventured  to  peep  forth  at  the  happiness  of 
those  two  curious  beings  who  walked  so  quietly 
beneath  them.  When  hearts  are  full  they  speak 
without  words. 

I  was  Gatherway's  best  man;  Jock  was 
mine.  He  and  Eva  have  to  wait  a  while.  Uncle 
Duveen  has  decreed  it,  and  not  all  the  king's 
horses — nor   our   Aunt    Sophie's — can    displace 


344  Honesty's  Garden 

Uncle  Duveen,  ooce  lie  puts  his  foot  down.     It 's 
so  large — and  so  gouty,  that 's  why — says  Eva. 

The  late  Haven  has  developed  into  the  play 
house  for  those  poor  little  ones.  Honesty  could 
not  be  matron,  after  all.  There  was  no  urgent 
reason  why  she  should  neglect  the  new  Haven 
— formerly  the  Home — and  myself.  I  found  I 
could  n't  spare  Honesty — not  even  for  a  minute. 

Billy,  once  again  sound  of  wind  and  limb,  is 
Play  Mistress  in  Chief  at  the  Play  House,  and 
seems  likely  to  become  as  invaluable  to  the  es- 
tablishment as  Jones  must  always  be  to  the 
Haven,  new  or  old.  I  didn't  care  for  the  idea 
of  sharing  Jones ;  but,  you  see,  it  had  to  be  done. 
Diplomatically,  it  need  scarcely  be  said.  Jones 
has  to  be  handled  cautiously.  If  she  had  n't 
approved  of  Honesty,  Honesty  could  n't  have 
become  her  mistress.  There  was  the  position, 
in  a  nutshell. 

Can  you  picture  Honesty  and  me  without 
Jones?  And  Keedels?  The  imagination  (my 
own,  at  all  events)  reels  at  the  bare  thought. 
Jones  knows  all  my  ways,  my  hours,  my  wants, 
my  likes — and  my  dislikes.  She  understands 
my  crotchets,  and  my  little  periodical  bad 
tempers.  She  knows  how  to  dust  my  books ;  and 
can  do  it  without  tidily  putting  back  those  I 
have  taken  from  the  shelves  for  easy  reference. 

You  have  been  instructed  before  of  this  great 


Honesty's  Garden  345 

cardinal  virtue  in  Jones;  but  you  may  not  have 
grasped  the  full  beauty  of  it.  Like  the  wise 
thrush,  I  sing  my  story  of  Jones's  astounding 
abilities  twice  over,  lest  you  should  miss  the 
first  fine  careless  rapture! 

It  is  necessary  that  I  should  insist  on  Jones's 
virtues,  although  at  risk  of  boring  you.  I  have 
re-opened  this  magnum  opus  chiefly  on  account 
of  Jones.  She  is  an  old  servant.  What  might 
seem  freedom  of  speech,  and — well,  presumption 
— in  another  Jones  must  be  allowed  for.  Allow- 
ances are  always  worth  while. 

As  I  told  my  wife 

I  must  have  a  look  at  that  sentence.  It  has  n't 
occurred  before  on  any  one  of  these  many  pages. 
I  like  it.  It  has  a  masterful  ring  about  it. 
There  's  a  true  sense  of  property  in  the  expres- 
sion. And  property  is  real  estate.  Ask  my 
venerable  friend  the  Undertaker. 

As  I  told  my  wife  only  a  few  moments  ago 

You  will  pardon  me,  won't  you?  How  did 
you  feel  on  the  initial  occasion  you  committed 
that  phrase  to  cold  black  and  white?  Did  n't  it 
appear  to  you  that  now  you  were  a  person  of 
huge  international  importance?  It  did.  Very 
well;  forgive  my  vanity. 

As  I  told  Honesty  a  few  moments  ago,  it  is 
far  better  to  let  Jones  give  Keedels  an  over- 
supply  of  the  daily  milk,  and  rather  more  of  the 


346  Honesty's  Garden 

herring  than  legitimately  belongs  to  the  "  head," 
than  have  an  awkward,  china-breaking,  kitchen- 
sweethearting  young  miss  interloping  at  the 
Haven.  Jones  might  get  dressed  earlier  in  the 
afternoon,  of  course;  and  her  taste  (or  rather 
the  taste  of  her  friends)  in  pictorial  postcards 
could  easily  be  on  a  higher  plane.  But  pray 
observe  the  way  Jones  gets  up  in  the  morning; 
remember  how  punctual  are  our  meals;  how 
nicely  cooked 

"  That  is  all  you  men  think  about,"  says  a 
voice  from  behind  my  desk-chair,  and  conse- 
quently behind  me.  "  I  can  tell  you,  Mortimer, 
that  that  cat  drinks " 

"  Which  cat,  my  love?  " 

"If  Jones  heard  you  say  that!  However,  if 
you  had  to  settle  the  weekly  milk  bill,  you  would 
soon  guess  which  cat!  Go  on  with  your  writ- 
ing; I  didn't  mean  to  interrupt  you,  only  there 
seemed  so  much  about  Jones " 

"  I  'm  saving  you  for  the  last.  You  're  first 
— and  last — with  me." 

"  I  must  be  in  between  as  well.  I  know  this 
isn't  my  hour;  and  that's  exactly  why  I  want 
it.  I  notice  that  you  commence  this  chapter  by 
asking  your  quite  hypothetical  readers  whether 
they  have  ever  moved.  You  have  given  them  no 
chance  of  an  answer,  nor  any  explanation  as  to 
why  you  propounded  the  question." 


Honesty's  Garden  347 

I  wheeled  round  here  to  regard  Honesty  seri- 
ously. "  They  say  people  become  alike  when 
they  're  married,"  I  pronounced,  magisterially. 
"  But  I  can't  have  you  turning  literary  so  soon. 
There  are  too  many  women  writers  as  it  is. 
Ask  any  man.     A  woman's  place " 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know.  Mending  the  socks  and 
making  the  puddings.  Also  her  own  dresses 
(poor  thing!),  but  Jones  won't  let  me  make 
the  puddings ;  and  that 's  where  it  all  begins. 
Why  can't  I  be  allowed  to  make  puddings, 
Mortimer?  " 

"  Let  every  one  do  the  thing  he  (or  she)  does 
best.     You  look  very  pretty  to-night." 

"  In  this  old  frock ! "  Honesty  appeared 
amusedly  unconvinced,  although  she  must  know 
she  is  pretty.  Very,  very  pretty.  u  That  im- 
plies I  'm  hideous  on  other  nights.  Yes,  it  does. 
You  can't  get  out  of  it,  so  continue  your  writing 
— at  once.  I  only  came  into  your  den  to  ask 
how  you  got  on  in  town  to-day ;  and  whether  you 
wish  to  have  this  utterly  inappropriate  legend 
hung  up  again  over  the  door?  I  found  it  in  one 
of  the  boxes  of  rubbish  which  had  n't  been  turned 
out  since. the  moving." 

She  exhibited  the  small  narrow  board  which 
formerly  was  fixed  above  the  lintel  of  my  old 
den :  "  Pleased  to  see  the  world  go  by  in  all  its 
changing  imagery." 


348  Honesty's  Garden 

"  You  're  not  a  bit  like  that  now,"  Honesty 
declared.     "  You  're — changed." 

"For  the  better?" 

"  Ever  so  much  for  the  better.  You  're  so 
much  more — strong,  and  confident  You're  al- 
most fierce  at  times." 

"  My  responsibilities  make  me  fierce.  I  have 
to  bear  the  burden  of  Atlas.  What  with 
Gatherway  and  his  schemes " 

"  They  're  successful." 

"  Entirely  owning  to  me — Gatherway  and  his 
schemes;  the  Play  House;  Jones  and  her  cat; 
Eva  and  young  Baillie;  the  Alfred  book " 

"  That 's  in  a  second  edition." 

"  Very  properly  so.  The  Alfred  book ;  the 
Little  Marvels;  the  fact  that  I  have  lost  all  my 
valued  possessions  since  we  moved " 

"Lost  all?" 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  and  don't  interrupt.  I — I — 
you  make  me  fear  I  'in  too  happy,  sometimes — 
because  life  levels  up  so.  There,  that 's  a 
thought  in  the  minor  key.  We  ought  n't  to 
doubt.  When  you  are  near  me  I  don't  doubt. 
You  are  the  exception  to  prove  the  rule.  But 
it  certainly  is  a  funny  thing  I  can't  find  that 
copy  of  Herrick's  Hesperides "    } 

"  You  had  it  in  your  pocket  when  we  were  at 
Lynmouth.  Don't  you  recollect  reading  it  to 
me  that  day  we  walked  through  Glenthorne? 


Honesty's  Garden  349 

We  sat  by  one  of  the  old  gates,  and  you  found 
1  Love  like  a  gipsy  lately  came  and  did  me  much 
importune ' " 

"  '  To  see  my  hand — that  by  the  same  He  might 
foretell  my  fortune/  You  're  quite  right !  I 
did  have  Herrick  then.  He  's  in  the  pocket  of 
my  old  Norfolk  jacket  '  He  saw  my  palm;  and 
then  said  he  ' — How  does  it  go?  " 

Honesty  whispered  the  rest.  " '  I  tell  thee, 
by  this  scar  here,  That  thou  within  few  months 
shalt  be  The  Youthful  Prince  d' Amour  here.' " 
She  had  my  hand ;  and  she  caught  it  to  her  heart. 

But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  how  we  moved. 
You  can  expect  us  to  have  done  the  garden 
moving,  in  October  and  November  last  year. 
Honesty's  garden  will  be  as  beautiful  as  ever 
this  summer.  Come  to  Carbridge,  and  see  for 
yourself. 

It  was  a  showery  day,  and  the  wind  was  really 
rather  annoying.  It  had  a  way  of  whisking 
papers  out  of  one's  hands — and  I  have  a  lot  of 
papers.  These  and  my  books  had  to  be  moved 
by  myself.  I  allowed  them  to  help  with  the 
heavy  books.  The  Undertaker  and  Billy  were 
most  useful. 

My  new  den  is  jolly.  Absolutely  jolly.  The 
bookshelves  are  arranged  all  round  three  sides 
of  the  room  and  stand  about  five  feet  high,  ex- 


35°  Honesty's  Garden 

cept  by  the  fireplace,  where  they  reach  to  the 
frieze.  All  along  the  shelf  which  makes  the  top, 
I  have  grouped  my  old  brass  candlesticks  and 
pots  and  pans;  and  an  ancient  lantern  clock 
(Cromwellian — I  bought  it  last  Christmas  for 
a  joint  preliminary  wedding  present  to  Honesty 
and  myself)  ticks  joyfully  amid  its  bravely  glit- 
tering surroundings.  I  have  a  nice  garnish  of 
pewter  too,  by  itself,  on  the  mantelpiece.  Also 
a  comfortable  window-seat ;  and  my  small  mirror 
— which  pictures  still  the  comedy  of  love. 

The  "  Adam  "  sideboard  is  in  the  parlour,  and 
carries  the  best  china.  Honesty  has  unearthed 
some  very  nice  pieces.  Old  Stafford,  Shenton, 
Coalbrookdale.  They  have  all  been  duly  iden- 
tified in  Ohaffers's.     The  drawing-room 

Well,  we  don't  call  it  a  drawing-room,  but 
simply  the  best  room.  It  sounds  more  countri- 
fied and — homely.  It 's  in  a  French  scheme, 
Rose  du  Barri  colouring  throughout — walls, 
drapery,  carpet. 

Louis  XVIth  gilt  furniture.  (Models,  of 
course.  I  'm  only  a  poor  man!)  A  short  rose- 
wood grand  piano;  a  rosewood  cabinet — for  my 
one  or  two  pieces  of  Dresden,  and  the  Lowestoft 
mugs,  and  the  square-mark  Worcester,  and  the 
Nantgarw  tea-service.  Another  window-seat.  A 
decorated  Spanish  mahogany  round  table 

(This  doesn't  hurt  the  rosewood.) 


Honesty's  Garden  35 1 

You  note,  with  my  new-found  arrogance,  that 
the  personal  pronoun  predominates?  My  brass 
candlesticks ;  my  Dresden !  Oar  Dresden,  of 
course.     It  's  our  everything. 

The  best  room  is  really  Honesty  's.  She  de- 
signed it  all.  People  say,  directly  they  enter  it, 
"  What  a  sweet  room !  "  They  can't  help  them- 
selves; the  truth  will  out! 

We  own  two  grandfather  clocks,  and  can  thus 
lay  claim  to  be  considered  in  Carbridge.  A 
warming  pan  lends  distinction  to  the  hall;  and 
warming-pans  are  the  sign-royal  in  Carbridge. 
No  self-respecting  cottage  is  without  one. 

Bless  me,  how  happy  I  am !  Foolishly  happy, 
do  you  dare  to  suggest?  I  know  I  have  more 
than  my  deserts — but,  who  hasn't? 

Be  sure,  I  will  not  forget  ...  to  walk  humbly 
in  Honesty's  Garden. 


THE   END 


Jl:  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogues  sent 
on  application 


ANNA   KATHARINE  GREEN'S 
GREAT  NEW  NOVEL 

THE  HOUSE  OF  THE 
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This  is  one  of  the  strongest  and  best  detective 
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A  rambling  old  country  house  surrounded  by 
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sister,  his  fiancee,  strangled.  As  he  bends  over 
the  lifeless  body,  enter  the  police,  summoned  by 
a  mysterious  call.     He  is  arrested. 

Crown  8vo.     $1.50 
With  Frontispiece  in  Color  by  Arthur  /.  Keller 


New  York      Q.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS        London 


"No  one  who  reads  it  can  ever  forget  it." 

Jilbany  Times'Union. 


POPPY 

The  Story  of  a  South  African  Girl 
By  CyntHia  StocKley 

"Breezy  freshness,  strong  masculinity,  and 
almost  reckless  abandon  in  the  literary  texture  and 
dramatic  inventions." — Phila.  North  American. 

"  Has  a  charm  that  is  difficult  to  describe." 
St.  Louis  Post-Dispatch. 

"  A  book  of  many  surprises,  and  a  fresh  new 
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"  Shows  undoubted  power." — N.  Y.  Times. 
Second  Printing 
With  Frontispiece.     $1.35  net  {$1.50  by  mail) 

NewYorK     G.  P.    Putnam's   Sons  London 


Clever,  original,  entertaining,  thrilling." 

Cincinnati  Times-Star. 


The   Master  Girl 

By  Ashton  Hilliers 

Author  of  "As  It  Happened,"  etc. 

A  vivid  story  of  prehistoric  times,  when  the 
wife-hunter  prowled  around  the  cave  of  the 
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Into  this  life  of  hard  necessity,  of  physical 
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to-day. 

"  This  tale  of  the  Master  Girl  and  her 
amazing  doings  has  only  one  fault.   It  is 

too  Short."— "New  TorK  Sun. 

At  all  Booksellers.     $1.25  net  ($1.35  by  mail) 

New  York     Q.  P.  Putnam's  Sons     London 


Jin  ideal  love  story 


THE    ROSARY 

By  Florence  L.  Barclay 

"/~\NCE  in  a  long  while  there  appears 
V-/  a  story  like  The  Rosary,  in  which 
there  is  but  one  adventure,  the  love  of  the 
two  real  persons  superbly  capable  of  love, 
the  sacrifices  they  make  for  it,  the  sor- 
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of  the  reviewer,  strengthens  faith  in  the 
outcome  of  the  great  experiment  of  put- 
ting humanity  on  earth.  The  Rosary 
is  a  rare  book,  a  source  of  genuine  de- 
light."— The  Syracuse  Post. 

Crown  8vo,    $135  Net    ($1,50  by  mail) 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


t.6  3246 


269558 


:»  -;  «< 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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